White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 5
by AltanKatt
Summary: This is the tv show White Collar as a novel. It is written from the point of view of Neal Caffrey or Peter Burke. The dialog follows the episodes, but there are also new scenes filling the gaps in the story. I wanted to capture the spirit of White Collar and the friendship between Peter and Neal. Part 5 starts with "Bottlenecked" and ends with "Out of the Box", the end of season 1.
1. Chess

**Chess**

Neal returned home after a day's work, picked up his mail where June used to leave it for him and walked upstairs to his apartment. He browsed through the envelopes. He still seemed to get fan mails. He could tell because his official address was still at Sing Sing and when they forwarded a letter to June's it was always fans. Everybody who had a normal reason to send him anything knew where he lived.

"Realists don't fear the results of their study," a voice said behind him. Moz.

"Then why don't you find me more favorable results, Dostoyevsky?" Neal returned and kept browsing through his mail.

"I hit everybody who would or could know about the damn music box. Nothing's coming up."

"Well, keep looking." The box still existed so someone must know about it. Unless someone bricked it into a wall and then died. He stared at the back of a postcard. He turned.

"Moz."

He showed it to his friend who sat on the sofa.

"Ah. Your anonymous chess opponent again. Why aren't you more curious about who's sending them?"

Neal shrugged.

"I like the mystery."

"Your girlfriend's missing. You can't find the one thing that might free her. One could say there's enough mystery in your life. Where's the postmark from on this one?"

Neal looked at it. It was addressed to him at this place. But there was no postmark on the stamp.

"There isn't one."

"There isn't one?" Neal handed it to his friend so he could see for himself. "As in someone hand-delivered this card to your door?"

Neal took the pile of cards he had received so far, about once a week for the last six or seven weeks.

"This is odd," he noted, looking at them. "The other cards are blank. The new one has a picture of the Museum of Natural History on it." Moz flipped it over and confirmed. "A good mystery makes life interesting."

Neal grabbed the little chessboard from the bookshelf.

"You know the Chinese curse?" Mozzie asked as Neal sat down on the opposite side of the sofa table. "May you live in interesting times."

"You know that's the first of two curses?"

"What's the other one?"

"May you find what you're looking for," Neal answered. Moz smiled. "What's the move?"

"Uh, knight to D-7," he read from the card.

Neal made the move on the chessboard.

"Knight to D-7…" he mumbled. He closed his eyes. There was one person from his past he wanted to meet but others seem to turn up instead. And this one he had hoped he would never cross paths with again. He rose his head and met Mozzie's eyes.

"You've done this move before, haven't you?" Observant as always.

"Moz, I know who I'm playing." His friend blinked and tried to come to conclusions too. "Keller. This was our last game."

"Keller," Mozzie repeated, frowning. They had not met, but Neal had told him enough for him to know it meant trouble. "Looks like he's in New York. Who won?"

"I don't know. We never finished playing."

If Keller had turned up in his life only to finish the game he was lucky.

Neal got to the office early the next morning to do some research before Peter arrived. What he did was totally legal and he was expected to keep an eye on minor crimes too, to find patterns for instance. But what he did now was to find crimes that matched a profile Peter might not even know about.

He found en FBI file about a heist that somehow screamed 'Keller' all over it, though he seemed to not have been near it.

"Neal," a tired Peter greeted him when he passed through the door. In the beginning, Peter had picked him up every morning, but as time passed by and Neal had proven he could handle office hours as an adult and did not mind to walk, they met at the office if nothing else was said.

"Peter," Neal returned. His handler passed his desk and then halted. After a few seconds, he turned back.

"You're here early."

"So are you."

Neal did not fancy that frown Peter got. The agent was a man of regular habits, but he also had a knack of noting when Neal broke a pattern. Even though Neal did his best to not have a regular pattern.

"What you doing?"

"Research," Neal replied. It was true. Still, he cursed himself for involuntarily placing his arm across it, as if he had something to hide.

Peter walked around his desk and pulled the file out from under his hand. Neal sighed.

"'Heist of the American Museum of Natural History,'" Peter read. "Not your normal hotbed of crime and intrigue."

"Yeah, it's probably nothing." Neal tried to take the file back but Peter dodged his hand.

"Hold on. Interesting list of items stolen. Antique cork duck decoys from the storeroom. They also took a wax-sealed supply list and…" Peter turned the page, "French soil samples that belonged to Doctor John Bartram."

"Father of American botany," Neal told him with a wide, innocent grin as if that explained the unusual theft.

"Just playing a hunch, eh?" Peter was looking at him with a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. Of course, he did not believe him and guessed that Neal had a specific reason for having that particular case on his desk. Peter was right, of course, and Neal had little hope to make Peter let it go.

"Ah, they already have a suspect," he pointed out to Peter. "They caught a guy stuffing his backpack. It's—"

"Manuel Campos," Peter read from the sheet. "He's out on bail today. Maybe we should go talk to him."

His handler had a face as if he outsmarted his pet convict. And he had. Neal had planned to do just that. Now it seemed as if he would have company.

"We could do that."

If Peter could catch Keller he would be more than happy. What worried him was the way there. Keller and he had a history and he did not want to go to prison. Now, Keller would have the upper hand.

* * *

Peter had not slept well and felt grumpy. He had been up early and left for office when he understood the night would not turn better. As he walked into the office he greeted Neal who sat right inside the doors. Neal returned the greeting, just as usual.

Two steps later he stopped. The office was almost empty. He was there an hour earlier than usual. Yet… He turned to the kid.

"You're here early."

"So are you."

Peter wondered if it was his tired mind that played a trick on him. He could not remember that Neal had anything vital or time-critical on his hands that made him want to be in the office early.

"What you doing?"

"Research," Neal replied as he placed his arm across what he was doing in a way that reminded him of a boy in school who had written a love letter that he did not want his teacher to see. The kid was hiding something from him. Peter rounded his desk and pulled an open FBI file from under Neal's hand.

"'Heist of the American Museum of Natural History,'" he read aloud. "Not your normal hotbed of crime and intrigue."

"Yeah, it's probably nothing," the kid said, but still made a move to take the file back. It was something here that had caught Neal's attention and he wanted to know what it was.

"Hold on. Interesting list of items stolen. Antique cork duck decoys from the storeroom. They also took a wax-sealed supply list and…" Peter turned the page, "French soil samples that belonged to Doctor John Bartram."

He glanced at Neal who beamed back.

"Father of American botany."

Cork, wax, and soil? There was something here. Maybe it was nothing just as Neal had said. More likely, Neal saw something he wanted to know more about. Just the fact that he had not been eager to show and tell him, said a lot. He knew Neal was searching for the Music Box. What else was he up to?

"Just playing a hunch, eh?"

"Ah, they already have a suspect," Neal replied and pointed at the arrest sheet. "They caught a guy stuffing his backpack. It's—"

"Manuel Campos," Peter read from the sheet. "He's out on bail today. Maybe we should go talk to him."

Peter could not help smiling when he saw that Neal fought to find some argument to object and found none. And still, he seemed interested in coming along.

"We could do that."

The kid sent him a glance. Peter remained where he was, waiting. He still had his coat on, so…

"Now?" the kid asked.

"Yeah, why not?"

Neal rose from his seat and grabbed his coat.

"No hat today?" Peter asked, stunned.

"Oh, please, Peter."

"What?"

"It's a turtle-neck," he said and pointed at his clothing. As if that explained it. Peter shrugged and walked to the elevator he arrived in less than five minutes ago.

They walked. It was a clear, cold November day.

"I think it's great you've taken an interest in a small-time museum heist," Peter told Neal.

"History is important," Neal agreed, ignoring the obvious ironic tone in the statement.

"Yes. Duck decoys and French soil samples," Peter continued and decided to quit the act and glared at the kid. "You don't want me looking into this. Why?"

"I don't waste your time with a hunch."

"Cut the crap!" he snapped back. "What's going on here?"

"Look, I'm being honest with you, Peter," Neal replied. "I don't know yet."

He sounded honest enough, and the kid had never really lied to him so far. But he also had a habit of ducking questions. But he had left a straight answer: 'I don't know yet.' Peter could find no loophole in that.

"Yeah, clearly. There's something bigger going on. I don't believe Campos is the mastermind. Neither do you. Who's pulling the strings and why do I give a damn?"

Neal sighed. They turned to cross the street between two parked cars.

"I have a theory," the kid started and then throw out his arm to stop Peter. "Look out!" A car passed them in high speed continued straight ahead.

Before their eyes the car hit a man crossing the road with a bag of groceries. He tumbled over the roof and landed tarmac beside the car who had not slowed down a bit during the crash. Whoever drove the car took the first turn left and disappeared out of sight.

"That's Campos," Neal mumbled beside him.

A woman across the street, by a house, dropped her grocery bag and started to scream.

"You're gonna tell me what the hell is going on," Peter hissed at his felon before they rushed across the street to aid.

The rest of the day went in a rushed blur with no chance to talk to Neal. They had to leave their statements to the N.Y.P.D. Somewhere during it all he sent Neal back to the office. It was no rush to hear what he had to say. When the day was over Peter was too tired and went home for a quiet time with his beloved wife.

The next morning when he passed the doors, Neal was already there, again.

"Peter."

"My office in five," he returned. The kid did not object.

He had barely time to put his coat away when the phone rang. He sat down and took the call. It was from the N.Y.P.D. He ended the call just in time for Neal to walk inside.

"Manuel Campos just died in ICU. His wife's a mess. Says she didn't see the driver. N.Y.P.D.'s out of leads." He watched the kid. "Tell me who's responsible for this."

Neal returned his look. But it was not one of guilt or dishonesty. It was more the face of a man who dumped garbage in your yard because you asked for it.

"His name's Matthew Keller," the kid told him and handed him a file. "He's the blue-collar version of me."

"'Keller'," he repeated. "He's been on our radar before."

"And he always slipped off."

"Interpol has linked him to everything from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities." An impressive resume.

"Yeah, but they never had anything more than hearsay," Neal said and sat down. "Keller's never been caught."

His pet convict had sensed this guy was close and involved in something. It was pretty likely he told the truth when he said he did not know and only had a hunch, but he sure seemed to know the guy.

"Who is he? Some kind of rival of yours?"

"More like an opponent," Neal replied, and Peter felt there was no ducking the question. This kid did his job and told him what he knew. "We met at the Grand Casino. Cut our teeth in Monaco working the World Backgammon Finals. Last I heard he pulled the Stockholm Airport robbery."

Peter had heard of that one. Poor Sweden, too naive to be prepared for a guy like Keller. Like stealing candy from a kid.

"He drove right up to a flight unloading Krugerrands. Left fake bombs on the runway so no one could follow." It was as far away from the kind of crimes he associated with Neal as possible. "You met him playing backgammon?"

Neal smiled.

"It was simpler times."

* * *

"Manuel Campos just died in ICU," Peter told him when he walked into his office. "His wife's a mess. Says she didn't see the driver. N.Y.P.D.'s out of leads." Peter glared at him. "Tell me who's responsible for this."

Neal glanced at Peter. No, his handler was not mad at him. He was angry at the man who had committed the crime.

"His name's Matthew Keller," he replied and handed Peter a file he had prepared yesterday. "He's the blue-collar version of me."

"'Keller'," Peter repeated. "He's been on our radar before."

Was that so? Neal had not known, but on the other hand, Peter had had no reason to think his pet convict had a history with this man.

"And he always slipped off."

Peter scanned through the material in the file.

"Interpol has linked him to everything from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities."

"Yeah, but they never had anything more than hearsay," Neal pointed out and sank down in one of the visitor's chairs. "Keller's never been caught."

"Who is he? Some kind of rival of yours?"

"More like an opponent," Neal replied. "We met at the Grand Casino. Cut our teeth in Monaco working the World Backgammon Finals. Last I heard he pulled the Stockholm Airport robbery."

The second Peter had figured out he was on to something Neal had decided to tell Peter what he knew. He had not planned to hide it in the long run. He just wanted to be sure he was on the right track. He did not want to be the one coming with false tips.

"He drove right up to a flight unloading Krugerrands," Peter said. "Left fake bombs on the runway so no one could follow. You met him playing backgammon?"

Yeah, it was an unlikely story, considering how it all turned out later.

"It was simpler times." But Neal did not want to dwell in past times. "If this is Keller I'm guessing he posted Campos' bail so he could get rid of him."

Peter leaned back in his chair, considering.

"All right. What's with the museum heist, the cork and the wax?"

"It was a bet Keller and I made a long time ago. Counterfeit a bottle of wine owned by Ben Franklin."

"You and your wine," Peter huffed. "That's why people are dying on the street?"

Neal did not want to believe it either, but Keller had a completely different attitude than he.

"Marie-Antoinette gave Franklin a bottle of Chateau Du Munn. It's rumored to be in private hands, but it's never gone to auction. The point is the Franklin bottle can't be counterfeited."

"So it's a challenge," Peter concluded, not impressed. "Figure out who can pull off the impossible."

"May the best man win," Neal smiled, thrilled by the mere idea of the task.

"I don't care about your rivalry. If he's my killer, I want him," Peter cut it short. "Let's check around. Let's see if there's any chatter on this bottle."


	2. Old wine never dies

**Old wine never dies**

Peter had been more than surprised when Neal had told him that the bottle would be presented and sold at a fashionable wine auction. He called the owner of the auction house and asked him for a meeting at the White Collar office. Now the man sat in their conference room like an archetype of noble Englishman.

Snob all the way out to the tip of his nose.

"Mr. Cattigan," Peter began.

"Sir. Roland. Cattigan," the tweed suit corrected him.

"Ah. Sir Cattigan," Peter said and looked down in his papers. "You know about this Franklin bottle?"

"Yes. A seller will be presenting it on Friday. And we will be adding it to Weatherbys Auction."

"Who is the seller?"

"May I ask why the FBI wants to know?"

The gentleman was not impolite, just cautious.

"It's a forgery."

"Oh, that's quite impossible," the Tweed returned with certainty. "The Franklin bottle—"

"Can't be faked," Peter interrupted. "I've heard." And he was glad he did not have to tell from where he had heard it.

"Well, my seller wishes to remain anonymous."

"Then you're gonna have to disappoint him," Peter said with a smile and appeared to make a note in the file in front of him.

"Tell me, Agent, do you fashion yourself a wine aficionado?"

Sir Roland Cattigan suddenly had an upper-class attitude that Peter found provoking and disturbing. He belonged to the law enforcement, he was smart and educated. To be treated like something the dog made on the lawn made Peter, if not angry so provocative in return.

He leaned back in his chair with a sloppy pose and said:

"I like a good Pinot now and then."

"'Pinot'," the Tweed repeated with a smile that could cut glass. "You've seen Sideways."

As a matter of fact, Peter had. And it had been a fun movie. Pity a stiff upper lip like this one could not enjoy it.

"Your point?" Peter asked.

"My point is that my palate is insured by Lloyd's of London for a million Euros. My point is that you don't understand the subtleties of my business."

Always these who thought that their business was too prominent or too good too have dealings with the law.

"I think I do," Peter disagreed. "Word gets out a high-profile bottle like this is fake, you're done. Now, I don't wanna shut your business down and search your premises with a warrant," Peter took up a triple folded paper from the table, "but I will."

Sir Roland Cattigan studied him from across the table, moistened his lips.

"I don't know the seller," he stated. "But the broker for the bottle is a woman named Grace Quinn. Satisfied?"

"I believe I am."

The Tweed rose, took his coat and left without any goodbyes.

Peter grinned. Sir Roland had seen his share of movies too, thinking that he knew what a warrant looked like. What he had been holding was a menu from Federal Plaza Restaurant, which conveniently enough had a circular logo vaguely similar to the FBI's seal.

He rose with the menu and the file and met Neal outside the conference room. With a grin he jammed the menu in the kid's hand.

"What's this?"

"My search warrant," Peter replied with a smile. "Put me down for moo shu pork."

"I'm a bad influence."

Maybe so, but Peter had never claimed it to be a warrant. It had just illustrated his words, which were very real.

"Our broker's name is Grace Quinn. Says here that she runs an upscale wine cellar called Bin 903," Peter read from the file where there was a list of wine brokers. "Think we can link her to Keller?"

"Let me talk to her," Neal begged.

"What?"

"You can't go asking around with a badge. You'll scare him off," the kid continued. Peter sighed. Neal was probably right. "I'll tell her I'm representing a client who's interested in the bottle. See what I can dig up," Neal suggested. Peter glanced at him. He was not willing to let Neal off alone on this.

Neal pulled the left leg of his pants up a little revealing the anklet.

"You know where to find me."

Peter nodded. And he trusted him to do his job.

"Always do."

"All right," Neal grinned.

* * *

After lunch with Peter, Neal left for his meeting with the wine broker Grace Quinn. She just did not know about it yet. Neal preferred to caught her unprepared and maybe even a bit stressed. He was glad he wore a suit this day. It was not his best but it would have to do. After all, he was representing a wealthy client, not being one.

He asked for Grace Quinn when he entered the modern office. She walked towards him as elegance perfected.

"Thank you so much for your time, Miss Quinn," he smiled and kissed the hand outstretched in a greeting. A hand kiss could fall either way and Neal glanced at her to see how it was accepted. She smiled but seemed insecure about how to handle him. He turned on his charm and beamed.

"I am sorry to interrupt your busy day, but I'm representing a client who sent me to find the best place to store his collection. I started here. I hope I have come to the right place."

She smiled.

"I'm sure I can convince you. Shall we go to my office?" She made an inviting gesture and Neal followed her. The whole floor was almost all hers, except for the receptionist and two others. So her 'office' was more her desk far away from the other's desks. There was even a grand piano. Neal could not help smile at the standard item for showing off space and money.

"Are you a collector yourself?" she asked as she invited him to sit down opposite her.

"Just a modest collection." He took his seat and she did the same. "Chateau Latour, Mouton Rothschild, a case of Petrus, 1945."

"That's a serious collection." She held a professional distance. There was no interest in his person or his wines. All she was interested in was what he could do for her company. As any businessman would.

"Look, my client doesn't want his ex-wife or the IRS to know about his holdings."

"That's not uncommon. We're very discreet here," she assured him, and Neal also noted that she never assured him secrecy, just discretion. She picked up a folder from her desk. "If you'd like to bring him by I'm hosting a private wine tasting to celebrate Weatherbys' annual sale."

He opened it and read the list of wines. This would be a complete waste on Peter, he was sure. That man enjoyed anything labeled 'beer'.

"Does that invite extend to me?" he asked her with a wide grinning, showing he understood what the list contained.

"If you bring your client, it does," she assured him, beaming back. "We'll be opening some rare bottles."

"All right, I'll see what I can do. My client is a very cautious man," he said and looked her in the eye. "It'll help if I can give him a firsthand account of the facilities. Any chance I can get a tour?"

To say no was to say no to a future client. But naturally, she did not fancy to show him all her clients' wine collections either.

"Of course," she smiled and rose. "Right this way."

She unlocked a door and they took the stairs down. Quinn stopped when the staircase turned and he had a clear view of the vault. There was a glass wall in front of him and behind it was wine in plenty, all neatly placed in racks.

"As you'll see, our vault is state-of-the-art. Humidity is at a constant 62 percent. Temp at 50 degrees Fahrenheit."

She sure had figured Neal would be satisfied by that but he strolled up to the door to the vault.

"Nice."

He placed his hand on the door handle as if he tried to open it. And set off the alarm. Of course.

"Ooh. Sorry about that."

"It's okay," she assured him and keyed her code. "That's what it's here for." She placed her thump in the fingerprint reader. The alarm stopped.

"We change the code every day," she told him. He was not sure if it was for his wealthy client to know, or to him who had just seen her code.

"Good. I noticed you don't have surveillance cameras."

"We consider our clients' anonymity to be top priority. I assume it's something a cautious man like your client would appreciate."

"Well, you assume right, Grace."

"Shall we?"

She opened the door and they walked inside. Neal noted that the door locked behind them. The door could be opened from the inside, but no one could slip without a code and a thumb.

He strolled around taking in this heaven of wine. Grace followed him at a discreet distance, watching his every move. He looked down in a wooden box with three ancient bottles. History hit him in his face when he smelled the dust from them.

"Chateau Du Munn, post-French Revolution. Nice." He turned to Grace. "Who's the collector?"

She joined him by the bottles.

"I can't say."

"Wouldn't happen to be the same individual who will auction Franklin bottle on Friday?" Time for a direct question.

"I can't comment on that bottle. But…" she glanced in a specific direction, "no, it's not the same individual."

Neal looked at the direction she had been looking, and back at her again. Then he moved along the shelf to an open box with four old bottles on display.

"Seems more his speed." Those bottles belonged to Keller, of that he was sure.

"That I can neither confirm nor deny."

"Let's be honest with each other. I know you're brokering the sale."

"You shouldn't." She did not seem worried, though. More impressed.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be very good at my job, Miss Quinn."

"Your client must be well connected."

"That I can neither confirm nor deny," Neal beamed back at her. "I'd love to meet the seller of the bottle sometime."

He glanced down at the bottles again and then saw something in the corner of his eye and raised his eyes to what was behind the shelf. By the small window was a table, and on the table was a stack of books. In a thick book called 'Taverns of New York' he saw the corner of a postcard with the same stamp like the one he got from Keller, and this also was not postmarked.

He moved around the shelf to the table for a better look.

"He's been here recently, hasn't he?

"What makes you say that?"

"A man of his taste, I'm sure he has an appreciation for history. As do I. May I?" he gestured towards the book.

"Be my guest."

He picked it up, back to her, and opened it at the page the postcard indicated. Page 746, with a detailed pen drawing of a house at the top.

"The King's Crown," he read. "A tavern once frequented by George Washington. Now long buried under Water Street. Fascinating."

He flipped the card over. It was not a chess move this time. It said 8 P.M. He had a time and a place. Neal nodded to himself. He got the message. Keller had called him to a meeting.

* * *

Peter had noted that Neal had not returned to the office after his meeting with the wine broker. He was not worried. Neal was within his radius, on one of his evening walks it seemed. He trusted the kid to do his job and Neal knew his movements were monitored. It was the info that he had gained during the day that made him call because he wanted to ease the burden on the kid.

"What's up, Peter?" Neal answered. It always seemed as if he was happy that Peter called. It was flattering, even if it was only a reflex to smile when he answered the phone.

"How did your chat go with Miss Quinn?"

"Ah, I didn't find anything on Keller."

"Think he finished the forgery?" Peter asked.

"Maybe. I don't know," the kid answered. "Did you find anything on your end?"

"I might know why he's running this scam and it's got nothing to do with you."

"Am I supposed to feel relieved?"

"I would be," Peter said. But he had never competed with someone on those terms. Maybe Neal was disappointed. "I contacted Interpol. Their sources say he's got a big bull's-eye on his back."

"Yeah?"

Peter noted Neal sounded surprised, and not quite as he trusted the information.

"Yeah. That Stockholm heist he pulled, it was bankrolled with Russian mob money. Comrades got a little upset when he skipped Europe without giving them their cut."

"If they catch him, they'll kill him."

"Unless he promised the Russians their money back and then some."

"He's gonna pay off his debt with the money from the bottle."

It sounded as if the kid was amused.

"I want you here first thing in the morning. I wanna find Keller before they do."

There was a pause, like if he considered if he should come.

"Me too," he said and hung up.

Peter sat with his phone in his hand, somewhat surprised. Neal had a habit of ending the calls abruptly. Considering how good he was at chit-chatting face-to-face it was interesting who short he kept his phone calls. He had a theory that the kid preferred to see the face of the one he was talking to. On the other hand, he had worked undercover as a phone salesman and shone like a bright new star in the sky.

* * *

"If they catch him, they'll kill him," Neal realized. It was not without he felt a bit worried for Keller. Not that he liked him, but as insane as it felt, they had been working together and he knew the guy.

Neal had walked to the meeting point and found it was a building site, still working on the foundations. He had a time and place but no date.

"Unless he promised the Russians their money back and then some," Peter said.

Neal nodded. It started to make sense.

"He's gonna pay off his debt with the money from the bottle."

"I want you here first thing in the morning," his handler continued. "I wanna find Keller before they do."

He smiled. Peter finding Keller would be the best thing that could happen to his former partner in crime right now. His eye caught something on the building site. A man sitting by a light, alone, back to him.

"Me too," he told Peter and hung up.


	3. Keller

**Keller**

Neal got past the gate into the building site. The man sitting on his heels stubbed out his cigarette. Neal stopped at a safe distance. A ditch separated them. The man glanced at him and now Neal was completely sure.

"Matthew Keller."

Keller rose.

"See you got my postcards."

"Thanks for keeping in touch." There were few things Neal wanted less than having Keller in his life. He could even consider prison a better option.

"We never did get to finish our game," his opponent said. "Aren't you curious to see who wins?"

Neal shook his head.

"Not anymore." One time he had seen a friend in this man. Maybe it was because he saw what he wanted to see then when he needed a friend, or maybe Keller chose another path that changed it all. "Manuel Campos died today."

"Sorry, who?" Keller asked.

"Your thief," Neal hissed. "He had a wife."

He got a smile in return. Keller began to walk out on the beam functioning as a bridge across the ditch between them.

"Still afraid to get dirty, huh, Caffrey?"

No, it had nothing about being afraid. Neal simply could not see what right he had to take someone's life to get what he wanted.

"Violence requires no imagination. Anyone can use a gun," Neal mocked him. "Or a car."

"That's why you'll always be second-rate," Keller returned. Neal had to keep from laughing. "Yeah. You're too weak to do what's necessary to get what you want. Including Kate, from what I heard."

It was still the Keller he remembered. The man who did not shy anything to get what he wanted. Including ripping up old wounds.

"Nice try," Neal said to Keller's smiling face. "But you officially lost that one." Kate had chosen him and not Keller.

"You were in prison for what, four years? Missed a lot of Valentine's Days. I forgot how endearing it was when she talks in her sleep."

Neal did not for a second believe that Kate and Keller had been together in his absence, but the mere joy to provoke him, to be deliberately mean pissed him off. He marched out on the beam to give Keller a fist right on that grinning jaw. Then something started to beep, like a warning. The warning he had ignored when he visited Peter that first time. He had learned since. He stopped and took a step backward. The beeping stopped.

"I should've warned you, but we're… at the edge of your leash here," Keller said with almost an apologetic tone. "Might wanna take it easy."

So Keller knew. Neal also noted that Keller had chosen a spot to be able to keep a safe distance for himself. Did his former partner in crime fear him, the 'weak' who did not 'dare' to kill people?

"Imagine how I felt when I discovered that you of all people…" Keller said without a trace of a smile now, "were working for the Feds."

So he was disappointed? Neal could not care less.

"I step forward and a dozen FBI agents will be here in minutes."

"That right? Be my guest. The only one they'd have sufficient cause to arrest is you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Neal pointed at the sign saying 'no trespassing'.

"Trespassing? Come on, Neal. You're clutching at straws here."

"They got Al Capone on tax evasion."

"You flatter me with the comparison."

"What do you want?" Neal pushed on.

"I wanna play the game."

Neal blinked. Chess? No, it could not be.

"The Franklin bottle?"

"Yeah," Keller confirmed. "I wanna know who's the best."

If it had not been this man, and if he had not had Peter to consider, he might have been interested.

"You already submitted yours for the auction. Guess you won." Neal stepped off the beam and begun to leave.

"You never could follow through, Caffrey," Keller called out behind him. Why could he not just leave it? Against better judgment, he stopped. "That's why Kate went looking for something else." Neal turned. This man knew his buttons, but Neal knew Keller too well to let him push them more than once.

"I'll give you the first piece," Keller continued and through him a bottle. Neal caught it and felt its rough surface. This was a bottle that could be old enough to be from the time of Benjamin Franklin. "Now let's play the game. You got ten days." Keller walked away into the darkness on his side of the ditch. Well aware that he would not be followed.

* * *

The next morning he called Mozzie who met up with him as he walked to the office. Neal handed him the bottle. Mozzie took it and turned it over in his hands a few times before he asked.

"What is this?"

"A challenge."

"Okay, where'd you get it?"

"Keller." Neal saw he did not have to explain any further. "He wants a face-off. Gave me the first piece to forge my own Franklin bottle."

"Awfully sporting of him."

"Well, not exactly. Gave himself a big head start."

"Why do I get the feeling this isn't about the bottle?"

Neal sighed and stopped.

"Moz…"

"It's about Kate," Moz said with certainty. "It always was between you and Keller. Like he ever had a chance."

"Doesn't matter what it was about. Keller killed a man."

"Oh, sure, sure. Now you're the noble warrior."

Neal was not interested in this discussion. He did not care if Mozzie believed him or not, but this was not about Kate. He continued to walk and Mozzie got the message.

"Okay, what's the plan?"

"I'm gonna beat him. He gave me the bottle. Now we need to fill it, cork it, seal it and label it." It sounded so easy. That was part of the fun. "You like scavenger hunts?"

"I've been known to uncover an Easter egg or two in my time," Moz said with a smile. "What's on the list?"

"I think you have a fair clue," Neal replied, "but I need to clear this with Peter first."

"The Suit? Are you insane?"

Of course, Mozzie would think that.

"He wants to catch Keller. This can be our chance."

"By telling the Suit you're going to make a forgery?"

"Yeah."

Peter would not put him in prison for making the suggestion. To do it behind his back though, might have that effect.

Mozzie shrugged.

"It's your life. See ya'."

Neal nodded goodbye and continued up to the White Collar office and saw that Peter sat in his room. He hung his coat by the desk and walked up to him. Peter waved him inside before he had time to knock. Neal took a seat on one of the visitor's chairs.

"I'm quite curious what you did on a building site last night," Peter said, straight forward as so often. "And on the edge of your radius as well."

"I saw Keller," Neal answered honestly.

Peter blinked.

"You saw Keller?"

"I did."

Peter shook his head.

"Damn it, Neal. We could've done this right. I could've taken him down—"

"On what, exactly?" Neal protested. "He's completely clean. That's how he works."

"Doesn't take away that you should've cleared it with me first."

"You're right," Neal agreed and nodded. "I should have." It was true. It would have been better. But he had not got it into his head yet that he could take these discussions with Peter. That he did not need two separate lives.

"You should have," Peter said, but he seemed to get that Neal meant what he said.

* * *

"I'm quite curious what you did on a building site last night," Peter said as Neal sat down on the other side of the desk. "And on the edge of your radius as well." He had checked the kid's movements as usual

"I saw Keller," the kid answered, just like that. That meeting must have been pretty close after their phone call and Neal had said he did not find anything on Keller and said nothing of a meeting.

"You saw Keller?"

"I did," Neal confirmed. No loopholes. Straight forward honesty. Still, Peter became frustrated. He had had the kid on the line, he could have said something.

"Damn it, Neal. We could've done this right. I could've taken him down—"

"On what, exactly?" Neal interrupted. "He's completely clean. That's how he works."

A convict he may be, but Peter liked that Neal did not fear to treat him as a colleague. It would have been so troublesome if they could not.

"Doesn't take away that you should've cleared it with me first."

"You're right. I should have."

"You should have," Peter agreed but studied the kid with admiration. He had always liked Neal's eager to learn from his mistakes. Probably the kid had not lied when he said that he had not found anything on Keller, because of some loophole, like he did not know who, just where, or something like that. But it mattered little if Neal did realize that he should have acted differently. Peter decided to let it go.

"Weatherbys received Keller's bottle this morning," Peter told Neal and handed him an open folder with an image of the bottle.

"Oh. It's good," the con-man answered touching the image with awe.

"Yeah. It's also our only piece of evidence linking Keller to Campos' murder. And it's locked in a vault. Might as well be at the Atlantic Ocean, considering how circumstantial all of this is."

"I'm assuming a takeout menu won't fly this time," the kid said and returned the file.

"Nope."

Neal, however, did not appear as pessimistic as expected. On the contrary. His pet convict smiled at him across the table.

"Unless we can convince him it's a fake."

"That Cattigan guy won't stop the auction just because we claim it's a fake," Peter objected. "And we need proof that it is."

Neal seemed to just have been waiting for that comment.

"We can submit a Franklin bottle of our own." The kid shone with excitement. Peter frowned. He did not get the line of thought here. "There's only one bottle in existence, right?" Neal continued. "If I turn in a fake just as good as Keller's, they'll test them both."

"What kind of test?"

"Standard stuff. Carbon-date the cork, run a molecular test on the wax spectroscopic refraction on the glass."

"Stuff they got from the museum heist." Peter realized why Neal had trigged on the case, while he had not.

"Right. His bottle will pass those. And so will mine. That'll force the auction house to run a cesium test. They don't like to run them, because they're so expensive. It's a way to determine the age of the wine inside the bottle without opening it. Cesium 137 doesn't exist in nature. After they detonated the first atomic bomb, it spread around the world. Anything bottled before 1945—"

"Like the real Franklin bottle."

"Right. Is cesium free. Keller's bottle has it. It's a fake," Neal ended, sure of himself.

"Can't I get hundred-year-old wine and fill it up?" Peter asked.

"There's the rub. They'd know you just added it. The oxygen content would be too high," the kid explained. "That's why it can't be forged."

"And you think you can beat this cesium test?" Peter asked, stunned by the idea.

"No, nobody can. It's impossible. And that's the beauty of it." Peter could not help smiling at this comment.

"You force the test, you both fail. It proves that Keller's bottle is a counterfeit. We got him on fraud," Peter concluded, pleased with the whole idea.

"Yeah, it's not murder, but it's a start," Neal agreed.

"How you gonna put the bottle together?" Peter was eager to know. He always wanted to see these things for real.

"I already got a man on it."

"How so?"

"Keller gave me a bottle at our meeting yesterday."

"So he wants you to challenge him?" It did not feel right to Peter. If Keller wanted to sell his bottle, what good would it do to get a competitor?

"He wants to sell his bottle. When things like this turn up, there is generally little proof that the bottle is what it says it is. If someone comes with an identical bottle which proves to be fake before the cesium test, Keller's bottle is accepted as the real thing and he will get a higher price."

"And you're sure you can make a bottle that will pass all the way to this cesium test?"

Neal gave him a look of rebuke and Peter grinned back.

"Oh, yes, that Vinland map Maria Fiametta asked you about," Peter remembered. "I checked that up. You're not as good as you claim. The ink has been proved to be from the 20th century."

"_If_ that was replaced by a forgery by a very talented con-man, he made the switch _after_ that test," Neal returned with a wide smile. "He just replaced something that was already forged."


	4. Bee's nest

**Bee's nest**

When Neal came home he found Mozzie sitting with the back to him by his kitchen table, tabletop covered in protective paper and there were trays and paper and material all over it. Mozzie himself sat with a pair of giant tweezers over a pan filled with water and a sheet of paper on top.

Neal walked closer and leaned over his shoulder.

"How's it coming?"

His friend screamed and turned around, tweezers raised as if it was a dagger.

"Moz, overreact much? What are you gonna do with tweezers?"

"The shinobi ninja can fashion a weapon out of anything," Mozzie said. Well, those tweezers could maybe harm a fly at the most. So calling them 'weapon' was to overstate things a lot.

"You're not a ninja."

Moz grinned.

"That's exactly what I want you to believe."

This was a road Neal was not interested in taking. He steered away from it.

"How's the bottle coming?"

"Oh, I paid off a guard at that maritime exhibit for French cork made before the Industrial Revolution."

That was good news. Neal leaned over the table and took a closer look of the newspaper.

"We got our newspaper. This is a New York Gazette from 1785." Impressive. He smiled at Mozzie. This man was quick to find things when needed.

"They use it for insulation in the walls at the Colonial Ale House," his friend told him.

"That's perfect." Nothing was stolen, nothing that someone would miss, nothing that would bug Peter.

"There's only one egg missing from our basket."

Neal scanned the table and saw it at a glance.

"Wax."

"Preferably 18th-century beeswax from the Chateau Du Munn vineyard."

Neal stared at Mozzie.

"Grace, Keller's broker, has a few Chateau Du Munn in her vault. How much wax do we need?"

"Not much. I can make it work with just a few shavings. How's the security there?"

"Good," Neal assured him. "Keypad with a rotating code, biometric scanner plate—"

"Oh, we can ju—"

"With pulse monitor," he added.

"Oh, that makes it trickier. So how do you get in?"

He just assumed Neal would, and rightly so. And he knew exactly how.

"Have her open the door."

"For you?"

"No. For my client, Carlton Leed." Neal grinned. "I have to go to see Peter."

"Now about those office hours you take such pride in these days?" Mozzie mocked him, already returning to his work with the label.

* * *

The phone rang when they were having dinner. Peter saw it was Neal and ignored it. He was having a quiet time with his wife after a hard day's work. A few minutes later the kid called again.

"Aren't you gonna take it?" El asked.

"No. This is our time of the day," he said raising his glass to his wife. "What can possibly be more important than that?"

"When it comes to Neal, I can think of many things." But she smiled at him, not insisting that he should answer.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and somehow Peter knew who was waiting outside before opening the door.

"Neal."

"Peter, I tried to call you."

"I'm having dinner with my wife. Take a walk and come back later. Take Satchmo."

"I can't, Peter," Neal claimed and Peter frowned. "I'm outside my radius when I'm here, you know that. All I can do is walk back and forth on this street."

Peter sighed and let the kid inside.

"Hi, Elizabeth."

"Hi, Neal. Would you like some dessert?"

Peter cursed to himself. El was so flexible that it was annoying. A minute ago he had a charming, relaxing moment with his wife and now Neal was thrown into the picture and of course, she adapted herself just like that.

After they had eaten they cleared the table and El took Satchmo for a walk, leaving the house to them. Peter took two bottles of beer from the fridge, opened them, and handed one to his CI who still sat with his jacket on like he wanted to assure his handler he did not intend to stay long.

"So, what's up?" Peter asked.

"We need wax for the bottle," Neal replied.

"And the reason that you rush over here is?"

"Grace is throwing an event. I need you to be the wealth wine collector I told Grace I was representing. Carlton Leed."

Peter eyed the kid. He and Mozzie had not found any wax and they wanted him to be part of something to obtain it?

"Who's that?" he began but changed his mind. "No."

"That's your favorite word, isn't it?"

"It's a classic," Peter confirmed. "Nope, never, forget about it. What makes you think I would break into anyplace with you and steal anything?"

"We are not breaking in. You'll be shown around," Neal assured him. Peter was well aware of what Neal considered this as a loophole in the law. "And we're not stealing anything," Neal continued and Peter sent him a glare. "Of value," the kid was quick to add.

So his pet convict wanted him to steal something. Or wanted permission to steal himself. This was insane.

"All I need are some wax shavings," Neal pleaded. "It's like taking a lock of hair from the floor of a barbershop."

"Theft is theft."

"I'm a CI, not an agent. I don't have the same restrictions," Neal tried, sure of himself. "Call this one a gray area."

A piece of wax to create a forged bottle of wine. He loved to see Neal doing a forgery because he had always wanted to see if the kid was as good as he believed. But he could not condone a theft getting there.

"Nada."

"Come on. You can get all dressed up hobnob with pretty people, drink a fine glass of port."

Peter stared at Neal, stunned by what the kid had just said. It was the worst way ever to convince him to do anything.

"From everything you know about me what makes you think I'd enjoy any of what you just said?"

"Because this is about catching a killer," Neal returned. Touché. "A wax shaving for a murderer."

Peter rolled his eyes. He knew Neal had a point. He did not like to be a part of a crime committed by his CI, but Neal was right that what was stolen was of no value.

"This won't affect the value of anything in Grace's collection?"

Neal shook his head.

"Nope, no, nada."

Peter sighed. He knew he was beaten.

"You know, for the record, I hate port. It's syrupy."

"There will be other options."

* * *

Neal stared at Peter where he stood by his desk checking a file with Jones. Unbelievable. The agent noticed his stare.

"What?"

"We're going to Grace Quinn's wine tasting today."

"Yeah, I know."

Neal looked around for any evidence of a second suit hidden somewhere in the office.

"Don't tell me you're going in that suit."

"I love this suit. What's wrong with it?"

"Besides being the one that you've been wearing at both my arrests? You're supposed to look like a wealthy client with good taste." Neal noted Jones fighting a grin. "I'm sure you've something better in your wardrobe. Let's go to your place and get you something more suitable. Trust me."

"Neal, you don't tell me what to do."

"Peter, I'm doing my job here, helping to solve a murder case. If you'll blow the case I have to tell you." Neal smiled and took a good look at the other agent in the room. "On second thought I think Jones will do a far better job as a wealthy wine collector."

His handler was flabbergasted and turned to Jones who no longer could keep himself from enjoying their game.

"Caffrey is right, Peter. You'll need another suit."

Peter had given in but when they sat in the car Peter had been very firm.

"You'll not under any circumstances stick your nose in my wardrobe."

"Easy tiger. I won't. I'll stay in the living room and you can bring your suits down there. You can keep your secrets."

"It's not a matter of secrets," Peter snapped back. "It's just… private."

"I know you're a private person, Peter. Your home's is your sanctuary. Relax."

Peter's look had been one of surprise.

"What? Did you think that just because I'm crashing into your meals without giving you a heads up every time, that I don't respect your privacy?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "People have different ideas about it."

"I'm not allowed to have anything private, Peter, that doesn't mean I don't want to," Neal said. "Even legal stuff," he added by Peter's look. "Just as you don't want me to rumble through your wardrobe. I don't expect to find any bunny suits if I did. It's just something you want to keep private because it is private for you. I respect that."

At Peter's place, Neal picked one of the suits displayed to him.

"This isn't a wedding," Peter protested. "It's my best."

"I know. Put it on and let's pass my place on the way to Grace to pick up a tie."

"What's wrong with my ties?"

"Nothing. Except you're not a wealthy wine collector. Trust me on this."

Once at Neal's place, Peter had, of course, objected to the tie Neal pulled from the rack. Neal just tied it for him, smiled and said 'trust me' for about the tenths time that day.

They arrived just fashionably late to the party.

"I still say this tie is ridiculous," Peter said as they walked up the stairs.

"It's Italian. And it looks good."

"I should be flossing my teeth with it, not wearing it around my neck."

Neal sighed. This man was such a barbarian when it came to clothing.

"The sooner we can get Grace to show us the cellar the sooner you can get back to your favorite pair of sweatpants. Now, I know wine isn't your thing—"

"It's a tasting, Neal," Peter interrupted. "You nose a bottle, take a sip and say something pretentious, like rich with nice body."

Well, there were rich idiots who spent their money on wine without knowing anything about it, too. They were in Grace's office among the other guests. Neal saw Grace over by a table with glasses.

"Speaking of," he smiled and she saw him.

"You made it," she approached with a smile and turned to Peter. "You must be Mr. Leed."

"Please, call me Carlton."

"Grace Quinn. I hear you're a man of discriminating taste. I hope we find something to your liking today. Love your tie."

"She loves the tie," Neal pointed out.

"Yeah." Peter seemed baffled.

They followed her to a table where two glasses of wine were poured up for them. She handed them the glasses.

"We'll be starting with a 1985 Chateau Petrus Pomerol."

"Great year," Neal said as he eagerly took the glass. He had never thought he would get this option working with the feds. "You're not holding back," he added to give Peter a hint that this was the truly good stuff. They sipped.

"What do you think?" Grace asked Peter. Since this beer-drinking moron would have nothing intelligent to say about wine, Neal broke in to save him.

"I'd say it's, uh, woodsy with a medium body and hint of—"

"The lady asked what _I_ thought," Peter interrupted and took a sniff over the glass. "The use of wood is evident in its broadness of flavors. Great persistence in the mouth. It opens up well in the glass."

Neal could not keep from staring and Grace was impressed.

"I would agree."

* * *

"What do you think?" Grace asked him, since he was supposed to be the wealthy client interested in her storage facilities.

Peter searched for the right adjectives. Neal, who always considered any pause to be devastating for conversation, began to answer.

"I'd say it's, uh, woodsy with a medium body and hint of—"

"The lady asked what I thought," he interrupted, and Neal fell silent. Peter took a whiff of the aroma. Neal had said 'wood'. "The use of wood is evident in its broadness of flavors. Great persistence in the mouth. It opens up well in the glass."

He would never tell a soul that he had written quite a few love poems to El before he dared to date her. Not even she had read them.

"I would agree," Grace smiled and nodded, impressed.

He gave Neal a look. The kid seemed baffled.

"I understand you have a more substantial private collection," Peter dared to ask the lovely woman straight on, since it seemed as if he passed the test.

"Would you care to see the vault?"

She barely waited for his answer before she walked away, expecting him to follow. He did and they walked downstairs to a room with a glass wall. And behind it was wine.

"Your friend's not coming?" she asked as she unlocked the door with the right code and thumbprint.

"Oh, no. I don't need a babysitter."

When she was about to open the door, Peter interrupted.

"Please, allow me."

He opened the door to let her in.

"And you're a gentleman too," she smiled and brushed her body to his as she passed, as if the doorway was a little bit too narrow to pass otherwise.

"As you can see, our security system is state-of-the-art," she bragged. Peter smiled and slid with his hand along the side of the door slipping on a sturdy tape, preventing the bolt to exit and lock the door again when closed.

"Really?" he replied and followed her inside among the shelfs. The door was shut behind him but there was no click.

He stopped to admire a bottle or two, asked about the security, and then he once again opened the door for her. When they walked upstairs he just had to hope that she did not look back at the door. The panel was green for unlocked.

Once back up at the party he saw Neal mingle with a glass in his hand. They did not need eye contact. He saw that the kid had seen him and seconds later when he looked back he was gone. Peter did not like this operation, but he would fool himself if he said he did not find it fun.

Grace Quinn had many guests to attend and she had left him as soon as she made sure he had a fresh glass of wine in his hand. Neal would not need long in the vault and he had told Peter more than once that he did not need to worry. But when Peter glanced down the staircase and saw the hostess and another guest walk down towards the vault, Peter decided to do worry. He hurried after them.

"Miss Quinn, I have a question about the Chateau Petrus," he blurted. Grace turned and the look he got was stern. "Sorry to interrupt." He had obviously broken an unspoken rule of courteous behavior. A company known for its discretion expected their clients to be discreet as well.

"Please," said the man beside the woman, still mostly with his back to him. "Don't I know you?"

"I don't think so."

"I guess you just have one of them faces, huh?" He drank the last from his glass. Peter scanned inside the vault and thought he saw Neal hiding.

The man turned to Grace and handed her his glass.

"Mind filling this up for me?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

She smiled and left them alone. It was something with this man. Peter could feel it, but not specify what it was.

"Now I got it," the man said. "Yeah, I saw you earlier. You, uh— You came in with your friend. Where'd he get off to anyway?"

"I don't know. I'm not his keeper."

"You're not, huh?" the man answered and glanced at him. "See, I think you are."

The man knew who he was. And who Neal was. So this was Matthew Keller. Peter glanced into the vault and wondered of Neal had a clue.

"Then I wonder what would happen if I asked the security guard to check the vault right now," Keller continued. "I wonder what that does to a lawman's career when his errand boy gets caught breaking into somebody's private property."

Peter grinned.

"And I'm having a hard time figuring out why I don't book you for murder one right now."

Keller scratched with his finger across his eyebrow.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah."

"How about I get Grace to lock this vault down? What are the cops gonna find when they look inside?"

"A cellar full of dusty, overpriced wine," Neal answered as he walked to the door. He flung it opened and left the vault, passing Keller with a glare and placed himself by Peter. The kid had made a good choice revealing himself, removing Keller's trump.

"You know what?" Keller said. "I'm glad you brought in the FBI, Caffrey. Makes it exciting, right? Be that much richer when I beat you."

Neal leaned closer to Peter.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. He's a big fan of himself."

"I noticed that," Peter nodded.

"By the way, I heard that somebody mowed down a citizen right in front of an FBI agent. What a shame. I mean, that's gotta be embarrassing for the Bureau, right?" The man had a sly grin on his face that Peter hated. "Good luck with that investigation." He pattered Neal on the shoulder and walked up the stairs.

They watched him leave.

"I spend five minutes with the guy, I wanna punch him right in the face," Peter confessed.

"Imagine how I feel."

"You'll feel better when we take him down. Got what we came for?"

The kid nodded.

"Yeah. Lets get out of here."


	5. Magnum Bottles

**Magnum bottles**

Peter was quite pleased with himself and Neal's work. He had been by the kid's apartment on the way to the office and checked on the progress. The bottle itself was almost done. There was so much the FBI could learn from Caffrey. He just wished that more of his colleagues could see it that way.

He looked up from what he was doing when Hughes walked into his office.

"This can't be good."

"Why does everyone say that when I walk into their office?" Hughes asked.

"So you have good news?"

"No," his boss admitted. "I contacted the auction house. They're closed to new entries."

Peter stared.

"Closed?" he asked. "We can't submit our bottle?"

"Sorry, Peter. Now quit the fool's errands and catch this guy."

So much work and walking in gray areas to stop now. It felt wrong, but it was not his call. He put on his suit jacket and took a walk to Neal's place.

* * *

Neal held the finished bottle carefully with a clean rag between the glass and his hand. He brushed the label with a soft brush under the magnifying glass.

"You've outdone yourself, Moz," he said full of awe. They were such a perfect team together, him and Mozzie.

"Flatterer," his friend replied. "What's next?"

Neal placed the bottle on the table, rose, and walked to the gear.

"I set up the vacuum pumps." He grabbed the tube lift it to the table. "And transfer the wine."

They both stopped at the knock at the door.

"Expecting someone?" Mozzie asked. "Keller maybe?"

Neal leaned his head to the door and listened.

"June?"

"Noo," came the answer from a familiar voice.

Neal unlocked and opened the door ajar.

"Peter, hey. What you doing here?"

It was not that his handler did not know what he was doing in the room behind him, but he had not actually seen it be done, nor seen Mozzie, though Neal was pretty sure Peter guessed as much.

"Got some bad news," Peter said chewing on a wrap. "The auction house is closed to new entries."

Neal sighed and let Peter inside.

"I appreciate your A-Team run here, guys, but I can't let you take your bottle to Weatherbys." Neal stared Peter. They were almost done and it was a perfect opportunity to catch Keller. "It's Hughes. He pulled the plug."

"If we don't, they won't run the cesium test," Neal objected. "Keller gets away with a half-million dollars and murder."

"What if he wins? Or worse, what if you win?" Peter asked. "This guy will stop at nothing."

"That's why we have to stop him," Mozzie said. "No offense, but… your team… hasn't."

Neal glanced at Mozzie. That was a bold statement coming from Moz to Peter. Peter, however, did not seem to think about it that way. His handler just looked at the unfilled bottle.

"You're right," Peter said at last and Neal felt oddly proud. "Keep going. Let's take him down." He turned to Mozzie with the rest of the wrap. "Finish?"

"Lactose," Moz answered with an apologetic gesture.

"See you in the morning," Peter said walking to the door. "I'll call Jones and figure out a way to get this bottle into the auction."

And he was gone. Neal and Mozzie looked at each other and grinned.

"Let's go, Haversham."

They got back to work.

* * *

"Morning, Peter," Jones greeted him.

"Morning."

Peter sat in the conference room with the end of the table covered in papers. He so much wanted to find something on that auction house or on the Tweed. Not only was their plan with the bottle their safest plan to catch Keller. Peter wanted to see with his own eyes how far Neal's and Mozzie's bottle would go.

"I got nothing on the auction house," Jones said. "Weatherbys looks pretty damn legit."

"Damn," Peter spat. "I need some kind of leverage so Cattigan will let our bottle in."

"Keller really got to you, huh?" Jones noted as he sat down.

"Yeah, he's a piece of work," he nodded. "He and Neal may be rivals but he's the anti-Caffrey, the Bizarro-Neal." Peter's eyes caught something when he was looking in Jones' direction.

"What, you got something?"

Peter picked up the paper beside him.

"Yeah. Yeah, they had lousy weather in France this summer. Couple blazing hot months. Grape harvest came up short."

"That's good?"

"Yeah. 1947 was not a good year."

Jones looked as if he expected to get an explanation to that statement. Peter smiled and told him. Jones grinned.

"You got them by the balls, Peter."

"I just need to verify the information."

The next second Neal was in the doorway, with a metal case in his arms.

"Morning."

"Morning Neal."

"How's it going?"

"Peter got them by the balls," Jones told the kid. "Is that the bottle? May I see it?"

Neal exchanged a look with him and Peter nodded.

"Go ahead and brag."

The kid beamed, opened the case and placed an ancient bottle of wine in front of the agent. Peter smiled when he saw Jones' chin drop like a rock. Jones took the bottle in his hands as if it was the real thing.

"It makes me wonder why we caught you at all. And what we should have caught you for."

Jones gave the bottle back to Neal and he locked the case again.

"If it hadn't been for Peter, you wouldn't have caught me at all," Neal smiled. "And what you missed, I may tell you one day, in many years."

"Peter, can't we give him immunity for the past?" Jones asked. "I bet there's a hell of a story worth telling here."

"There is," the kid assured them. "This is my first wine bottle though."

Peter glanced at him. The bottle was a masterpiece.

"You want me to believe that?"

"I said wine bottle, Peter. The same method could be applied to any fluid in a bottle, say whiskey."

"Shut up, kid, before your vanity puts yourself in trouble. We'll leave in ten."

"To the auction?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded and disappeared into his office. He was going to make a long-distance call.

Thirty minutes later Peter and Neal walked up the stairs to the ongoing auction at Weatherbys. It seemed as if a bottle of wine that nobody was ever going to drink was to change hands of an insane amount of money. Peter did not care to be surprised. People had spent money on status symbols and collector's items for the whole of human history.

He scanned the assembled.

"I see European nobles and a handful of hedge fund managers but no sign of your buddy, Keller. It's hard to arrest him on fraud if he doesn't show up."

"Keller wouldn't miss the chance to see my face when this goes down. He must be watching."

Peter saw there were small cameras placed as if they were part of the auction.

"So he could be anywhere?"

"No, he'll be nearby just in case anything goes wrong."

"Doesn't help us much."

Neal sighed without objection. He nodded to the case with the bottle he was carrying.

"You think we can get this into the auction?"

"I have a move up my sleeve." Neal watched him as if he hoped there would be more. "Let's find Sir Cattigan."

The Tweed was not happy to see them.

"I've told you, Agent Burke, that we do not accept any more bottles. The schedule is full."

"Could you bring us that Franklin bottle, Sir Cattigan?"

Neal placed his bottle beside the one Keller had entered into the auction his eyebrows went up in surprise.

"I'm sorry. I can't submit your bottle, since clearly it has to be counterfeit."

"One of them has to be," Neal pointed out. "How do you know it's not yours?"

"We have reason to believe this is the real bottle."

"Where did you get it?"

Neal exchanged a look with him, like if asking who of them who would tell a lie.

"We're not at liberty to say," Peter said.

"I won't admit it to the auction," the Tweed said with determination.

"You sure about that?" Peter asked. "Last year you sold six magnums of Chateau La Fleur, 1947 at about $50,000 a bottle."

Sir Cattigan blinked.

"That's public record."

"I talked to the vineyard. They only produced five magnums that year." Peter saw that this caught the man by surprise. And he was not sure if he imagined it or not, but he could feel Neal's admiring look. "You don't want people knowing you got scammed, do you? Bad for business."

"You'll have to test them both to find out," Neal said.

"I can't," the Tweed objected. "It would take at least three hours. The auction—"

"Can wait three hours," a woman's voice behind them. Grace stood in the doorway. "My client welcomes the challenge."

And her eyes were all on Neal. She knew this was about Keller and Neal.

"Figured he might," the kid replied with a faint smile.

Peter turned back to Sir Cattigan who had risen in maybe an attempt to protest.

"Oh, while we wait, why don't you give me the IP addresses of everyone watching on your Internet feed? Thanks."

He caught Neal watching him with awe and it was not without he felt proud.

Twenty minutes later an assistant handed him a list of IP-addresses. He sent it over to Jones and Lauren. Time passed and for once Neal was calm and Peter was the one who could not be still. He called the office.

"Boss, how's it going?" Lauren asked.

"They're running the tests now."

"Congrats."

"Yeah, not celebrating yet. How's it going in there?"

"We're tracing those IPs," Lauren said.

"Any hits?"

"Three locations. The Carlisle, the Peninsula, and a parking garage. Who would be watching from a garage?"

"Somebody who wants to be on the move," Peter concluded. "Send units to the hotels but put the bulk of our guys on the parking garage."

Neal came up to him and Peter finished the call.

"They're about to announce the results," the kid said.

"We're about to move on Keller," Peter told him in return.

"Sounds like checkmate to me," Neal grinned.


	6. Mozzie makes a bid

**Mozzie makes a bid**

"Thank you again for your patience," the elegant Englishman began in front of all the eager potential buyers. "We apologize for the delay. But as some of you are aware we have had to conduct a cesium test to verify the authenticity of the two bottles we have been presented with. The test shows that one of the bottles is a forgery."

Neal blinked. One?

"One of the bottles?" Peter whispered beside him.

"The other, represented by Miss Grace Quinn, is authentic," Sir Cattigan said. "Thank you for your patience. The bidding will commence shortly."

Neal frowned, not sure where it was all heading.

"You said it was impossible to fake," Peter huffed beside him.

"It is impossible."

They looked at each other. They knew at the same time.

"Unless he had the real bottle all along."

Keller owned the real bottle! For how long? How long had he planned to use it this way, to humiliate him?

"If Keller had the real bottle, why would he go through all this?" Peter asked. "Why pretend to have a fake?"

Neal watched the people at the auction, the people on the phones taking bids. It was quite a stir. He made a gesture towards the crowd.

"He wanted to drive up the price," Peter concluded. "Damn. That's it."

"Surround the bottle with controversy. Now everyone is dying to get it."

"It will go for double, even triple the price now."

"Which gives him more money to pay off his debt to the Russians. He used me to do it."

He hated to feel like a fool and he hated even more that it was Keller behind it.

"This was his plan the whole time," Peter nodded. "He's good."

"We have to arrest him now," he urged his handler. "This auction ends, he's gone."

He got a tired stare in return.

"What am I gonna arrest him on? I mean, we have nothing on him now."

Neal felt the frustration he guessed Peter must have felt many times, especially chasing him, knowing a lot but with no real proof. But they had caught Al Capone on tax evasion… Suddenly he remembered something.

"Trespassing."

Peter stared at him. Sighed when Neal nodded. The agent gave it a moment's thought.

"Can't believe I'm gonna ask you this," Peter said, "but have you seen him trespassing?"

"I have, actually," he answered with pride. "At a construction site. It had a no trespassing sign and everything." No need to tell that he was on the same side of the fence with Keller.

"All right, we may not be able to hold him for long," Peter checked his watch, "but finding Keller is gonna take a bit."

"I'll stall until you can get him," he assured the man.

"Nothing—"

"Illegal, I know," he answered and held up his hands.

Peter rushed away and Neal wondered how to stall an auction. It would take a while yet before it was Keller's bottle's turn, but would it be enough? He walked outside and made a phone call.

"Yo," Moz answered.

"Hey, Moz, it's me."

"Is the auction over?"

"No. I just stepped outside."

"So how's it going?"

"Not good. Keller's bottle is real."

There was a pause.

"He has the real bottle?" Mozzie asked. "You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"Then… why—?"

"To drive the price up," Neal said.

"Brilliant. And we took the bait," his friend sighed. "Did they test both bottles?"

"Yup."

"How did our bottle do?" Moz's curiosity was obvious.

"Passed every test except the cesium," he answered with pride. "You did great, Moz." He could almost see the victory dance on the other end. "Now focus. I need your help. We can still nail this guy."

"On what?"

"I'll tell you later. Gotta find him first." Though Peter was good, he thought he had more reliable information to find. "Remember how I told you Keller has debt to the Russians?"

"Of course. I have perfect recall."

"Well, I'm trying to stall the bidding."

"Keller's gonna wanna pay these guys off soon."

"Which must mean that they're in town somewhere," his friend came to conclusion.

"Exactly."

"I'll ask around."

"Do it fast," Neal urged. "If you find anything, meet me at Weatherbys. I'll leave a pass for you in the front."

* * *

Peter had taken the car to the garage where one of the users of the auction's feed was placed. He jumped out of the car and hurried up to Lauren.

"Anything?"

"Signal's from the north-west corner of the garage. We sealed off every entrance and exit."

"Good," he nodded and turned to the other three in the team in FBI windbreakers. "We're doing a floor-by-floor search, people, starting now. I want everyone prepared. This guy could be armed. Nobody gets out."

They rushed inside and searched floor by floor. Finding the third floor empty as well was frustration and Peter cursed. But that did not help much.

"All right, next floor," he waved for the team. "Let's move."

And this time Peter felt lucky and the rush of adrenaline in his bloodstreams when he saw a single car parked in the north-west corner. He drew his gun and gestured for the team. They followed suit and approached with their guns raised.

He and Lauren got up to the car on each side

"No one inside," Peter barked in frustration when he saw the car was empty.

"Look at this," Lauren said and pointed to the passenger seat. There was a laptop with images from the auction. So Keller had been there.

"Son of a bitch must have seen us coming." But where was he now? And he must be sure this had been Keller's car. "Staff," he said. "Find them. We need to see the security footage."

Lauren nodded and jogged away.

"You two, check the last floor just to make sure," Peter said and pointed at two of the guys. They continued up the ramp to the next level.

Half an hour later Peter had seen enough to know that they would be lucky of they caught Keller. He called Neal.

"He's not here. Security cameras have him fleeing the scene. He hot-wired another car two minutes before we cordoned off the building."

"So you have no idea where he is?" To Peter, it sounded more like a statement than a question and the kid was right.

"We're pulling surveillance on him now with traffic cams. Putting together a time-line. He couldn't have gotten far. Didn't take his things with him." But it would take time to make that time-line.

"His things?"

"Yeah. He had a laptop. He'd been monitoring the auction."

"He's not watching the auction anymore?" Neal asked.

"Probably not," Peter said. "Too concerned with getting out of here."

"All right. Find out where he's headed." And the kid had hung up. It was not a humble convict speaking to his handler. It was a request from someone wanting to catch Keller even more than he did.

* * *

Neal sat on the back row of the bidders' seats.

"I must say it appears this spot of intrigue has whetted appetites," Sir Cattigan finished the introduction of Keller's bottle. "So without further ado, we'll open the bidding at one-hundred-thousand dollars."

The bidding was on. Mozzie sat down beside him.

"What did you find out?"

"I did follow-up on your suit's intel. It turns out the Russians are indeed after Keller. They want their money now. And Sergei himself is in town. He wants personal assurance from Keller that he's gonna get paid the moment this auction is done."

The situation for Keller was worse than he ever thought was possible. What had this brutal but smart man been up to? But it did help their situation getting their hands on Keller instead.

"I got an idea," he smiled at Mozzie. "You buy the bottle."

"What?"

Then his phone rang. It was from Peter. He learned that Keller slipped passed the FBI.

"His things?" Neal asked.

"Yeah. He had a laptop. He'd been monitoring the auction."

"He's not watching the auction anymore?" he realized. That made things much easier.

"Probably not," Peter said. "Too concerned with getting out of here."

"All right. Find out where he's headed." Now it was his time to shine.

"The bidding is now eight-hundred-thousand dollars to the gentleman on my right," Sir Cattigan. The tempo slowed down. If they did not do something fast they would lose Keller.

"This is a lousy idea," Mozzie protested.

"Do it, Moz."

"These people don't take IOUs."

"Fair warning," Sir Cattigan said. "I can sell for eight-hundred-thousand dollars."

"Do it," he hissed at his friend. Neal knew he could not buy it without causing unwanted attention. It was Mozzie who was the registered bidder and Grace knew who he was. He could not call himself Haversham all of a sudden.

Mozzie rose and held up his bidder's paddle with 57 on.

"One million dollars."

Silence fell and everyone stared. It was a wide jump from the last bid. Not uncommon if you wanted to knock out other bidders.

"Thank you, sir," Sir Cattigan confirmed. "One million dollars." No one raised the bid. "And sold."

Mozzie sank back on his chair with a chocked grin on his face and the others applauded.

"What did you get us into?" he mumbled. Neal pattered him on the shoulder and rose. Time to call Peter.

"Peter, where are you?"

"Still in the garage. What happened?"

"Won the bid," Neal grinned.

"What?!"

"Don't worry. I got a plan."

"You usually do," Peter replied and did not sound too worried. At least not over the phone.

"What's the status on Keller?" Neal asked.

"Headquarters is monitoring his movements in real-time from traffic cams. Looks like he's headed south on Park."

"South on Park," Neal repeated. "Thanks." He saw the map in his head. He jogged back to Mozzie.

"I know where Keller's going," he whispered to his friend and left.


	7. Checkmate

**Checkmate**

Neal knew Peter was likely going berserk but he had to reach there before Keller. He jumped into a cab, against the rules for how to transport himself on his own. He had no idea if Peter had sent his 'checked out' text to the Marshals or not. If he had, his anklet would be monitored and the speed of his transport would likely set off an alarm. It could not be helped.

"Manhattan Helicopters. FDR Drive," he told the cab driver. A convicted felon with an anklet going to a helicopter pad. He made a phone call to check what he already guessed. Then he called Peter.

"What the heck are you doing, Neal?" he almost yelled. "The Marshals called and—"

"I know. Keller is on his way to Manhattan Helicopters. So am I. Meet me there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You can check Sergei's flight plan yourself."

"Sergei himself?"

"The one and only. I have to go. I'm there now."

He ended the call, paid the driver and rushed out on the pier. There was no sight of Keller yet, but he probably waited inside the terminal, waiting for a call from Grace.

A black helicopter approached and Neal saw Keller exit the terminal and walk towards the pad. They met by the helicopter when it turned off its engine.

"Bravo, Keller."

"Seriously? Wow. So you came by to see me off, huh, Caffrey?" Keller grinned. "Who knew you were a gracious loser?"

"I have to admit using the real Ben Franklin bottle, did not see that coming," Neal said with honest admiration. "Stroke of genius, really."

"Thanks. That actually means a lot coming from you," Keller replied and for a second he looked like a little brother getting praise from his older, adored brother. "Only wish Kate was around to see it," he added to hide his emotions. "We both know she always loved a winner. Who knows? Maybe I'll look her up, see if she still does."

Neal looked back with a blank face. That was Keller. Always hiding his emotions by hitting at other's vulnerable spots. Sad, really.

"So I'm curious," Keller continued. "How'd you find me?"

"Checked Sergei's travel plans." The short version was just fine. "See he does it in style. I also hear he doesn't take it lightly when someone owes him money."

"Owed," Keller corrected. "As in past tense. Yeah, you see, our little go-around with the bottle cleared my debts. In fact, I just got a text from my broker. Bottle went for seven figures."

Neal hid his smile of triumph behind one of fake admiration.

"Wow," he expressed. "Wow, congratulations, man." Keller did not have a clue.

"Thank you. Thank you."

"So it was a two birds, one stone thing. Humiliate me, turn a hefty profit while you're at it?"

"See? Now you're catching on, Neal." Though Neal knew Keller wanted to hurt him it was painful to hear him say it. They had been friends once. "Listen, I'd love to chat, buddy. But unless you got anything else, I should get going. Be good."

For a second Neal thought about not saying a word and let Keller leave. Without money to pay Sergei with, he was likely to end up dead somewhere. One less killer in the world. One less trouble for him. But that was not how it was done. That made him like Keller. And if it was one thing Neal was proud of in his life it was his ability to care for people, even though he was a criminal. He was pretty sure that ability was one of the reasons that Peter had taken the deal.

He turned to Keller who had his hand on the door to the helicopter where Sergei was waiting.

"I haven't made my offer yet."

Keller glanced at his watch.

"This should be good."

"I'd like to offer you the opportunity to make a full confession for your crimes. The robbery of the Natural History Museum, the murder of Manuel Campos anything else you wanna add in."

"You know what? I was wrong. This isn't good. This is sad, man," Keller said, disappointed. "This is a moment I'll cherish. Seeing you at your most desperate." He turned back towards the chopper.

"The winner of the Franklin bottle it wouldn't happen to be bidder number 57, would it?"

This made him stop. Neal beamed at him and saw in Keller's eyes that he knew that he had lost.

"Why?"

"Now, this is just awkward, but I don't have a million dollars. The auction house said they'd give me a week to put the money together."

Neal heard people approaching from behind. He felt more than heard that it was Peter and his agents.

"A week, huh? You know what? A week's not that long. I can buy that." That, if something, was desperate. Clutching for straws. Neal smiled.

* * *

Peter drove out on the helicopter pier, waving his badge to the guard. He saw Neal with his back to him facing a black helicopter. And between the young con-man and the helicopter was Keller, leaving. Peter stopped and got out of the car.

"The winner of the Franklin bottle it wouldn't happen to be bidder number 57, would it?" he heard Neal say as he approached.

Keller stopped and faced Neal.

"Why?"

"Now, this is just awkward, but I don't have a million dollars. The auction house said they'd give me a week to put the money together."

Now Keller saw Peter and his team too. He was not about to give up yet.

"A week, huh? You know what? A week's not that long. I can buy that."

"Did you tell him I'm launching a federal investigation on the bottle?" Peter said.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. There's that too," the kid added with enthusiasm and Keller made a face. "How long can a federal investigation go on for?"

"Not sure," Peter said. "Years." It could, even it was rare.

"Oh, years, wow," Neal grinned.

Keller did not seem that excited about it all.

"Son of a bitch," he said to his opponent and Peter knew that Keller knew that he had lost.

"How patient are Sergei and your Russian friends?" the kid asked.

"You can take a helicopter ride and find out," Peter suggested. "Or you can come with us. Your choice."

He watched his pet convict and his enemy eye each other. There was no gloating.

"Well played," Keller said. He held out his arm and dropped his bag to the ground.

"Good game, Keller," Neal replied.

Keller grinned.

"The game ain't over."

"Help the gentleman into the car," Peter told his team and two agents stepped forward. Keller put his hands behind his back without a fuss.

"Looks that way to me," the kid said.

"Yeah?" Keller glanced at his rival as he got his hands cuffed. "I mean, you were locked up, broke out. Maybe it's my turn to accept a challenge. Best two out of three." Peter was not happy about that statement and could see on Neal's body language that he did not either.

"I'll see you around, Caffrey."

Neal took a step forward and told Keller something for his ears only. Then they led him away to the car.

"Poor Sergei's going home empty-handed," Neal smiled at Peter who bent down and picked up Keller's bag.

He felt so proud of the kid. There had never been a doubt about Neal's intentions. When the marshals called he had yelled at them not to worry even before checking with his convict what was going on. And seeing the kid out there on the helicopter pad, winning over his rival without mockery, it was such pleasure to see. Peter was a strong believer in fair treatment and no gloating when a suspect was arrested. Even a guy like Keller who was hardcore on the surface could be scared when being cuffed.

He pattered the kid on the shoulder on the way back to the car.

Neal remained where he was and Peter did not ask him to come along. He would not be involved in anything more concerning Keller. If the kid wanted to be alone as the adrenaline rush left him, it was his choice. Peter smiled. Neal would probably not be alone for long. He had a hunch a little bald fellow would turn up as soon as they left.

* * *

Neal enjoyed the temporary solitude. He watched the Statue of Liberty out in the bay and Brooklyn Heights on the other side of the river. He was outside his radius and Peter had let him remain there when they left. He took it as a gesture of trust. Still, Neal was pretty certain the moment he returned to his radius, Peter would send his text to the Marshals.

The imaginary freedom he felt down there by the water was worth a lot and he wanted to stay for a while.

Besides, he expected Mozzie to be around soon and was right.

"Did I miss Keller?" he heard his friend's voice. Neal barely needed to nod. The answer was obvious. "Damn. I wanted to see him do the perp walk."

"Sorry. Good news is he won't be bothering us for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Maybe long enough to finish our chess game." Neal wished it was so.

"You think they have a prison that can hold him?" Moz asked.

"I don't know." He had broken out of one. Keller could probably do it too. Not with the same means, but if he wanted out he would get out. The question was if he wanted to, with an angry Russian mob breathing down his neck.

"Okay, so, what's the bad news?" Moz asked.

"You won't be drinking a million-dollar bottle of wine tonight."

Mozzie grinned

"I'll live."

Life was good. Right now at this moment, Neal had never been more certain that he would gladly spend the rest of his sentence working for Peter.

"You were right," he said and Mozzie glanced at him. "I could use one less mystery in my life."

"Oh, I rescind that comment," his friend said and Neal stared, not very thrilled of this new mystery. "There's suddenly been a lot of chatter about the music box. You need to talk to Alex."

"She won't tell me anything while I work for the FBI."

"Then… make it worth her while."

That was a challenge to Neal's liking.


	8. Meet Kimberly Rice

**Meet Kimberly Rice**

Neal sat on his rooftop patio with a map of Europe together with books and papers on the little garden table. He tried, not for the first time, to crack the mystery about the Music Box's whereabouts. He had drawn lines and X-es with a red marker pen over most of north-eastern Europe. More than once he had drawn them, making them cloggy and thick, like it would make them more valid.

It was morning and he was getting late for work. He knew he should be leaving but it was as if he had fallen into what Peter would call the Kate trap. Whatever had to do with Kate came first.

"Byron always got like that when he couldn't crack a hustle," June's familiar voice said beside him. He looked up and saw her standing beside the table, lovely as a mother should be. He smiled. "Relaxing always helps."

"Sorry, June. I'm not really in the mood to relax."

"Not even if you have a very lovely visitor?"

June had that coy smile and Neal looked behind her towards his front door.

"Alex."

June left as Neal rose and Alex pushed the door closed behind her. There she was, in tight leather pants and jacket, smiling, and made him for a second to forget any thoughts about Kate.

"Got your message. I'm here," she said with a tone that could chisel stone. "What do you want, Neal?"

"I want the music box," Neal replied.

"I think you have a memory problem. Because I said that as long as you're a fed, I'm not telling you where it is," Alex said, arms crossed. "You're still with them, right?" Neal made an innocent smile and a little shrug in a vain hope that she would think of it as a 'maybe' rather than a 'yes'. She did not.

"Then there's nothing to talk about," she concluded and walked towards the door. As she passed him he grabbed her arm.

"I'll make it worth your while. You need me to get it."

"No, I don't." Alex was like Peter in that way. Neal did not get what he wanted with his seductive tone with her. But they had a history he did not have with Peter. Alex and he had been lovers and that seductive tone struck other chords in her than it would ever do in Peter.

"Then why don't you have it already?" Neal asked. "I'll steal it and give it to you."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"I don't believe you. You'll just hand it over?"

"Yeah. When I'm done with it."

Alex grinned.

"Knew there was a catch." She walked back into the room though, and not through the door. "What's this really about?"

"You get the box in the end. That's my offer."

"Okay," Alex nodded. "If you figure out how to get the anklet off."

"I'm not wearing this as a fashion accessory," he objected.

Alex walked up close and Neal became aware that he was not the only one using the history between them to his own advantage.

"Well, when the time comes I need to know that you can get off your leash. Otherwise, you're a liability," she said in that low seductive voice that could turn chocolate into syrup. "I'll come back tomorrow at six. Lose the blinking jewelry and you'll get what you need."

He watched her leave. She was beautiful and intelligent. A dangerous combination he thought with a smile when he realized he was thinking about how to leave the anklet behind because she said so. He looked at his watch and realized he would be late. But it was not like in school. This was a real job and people were late from time to time. He probably overstated how much anybody would care if he came a little late. After all, he had been out for almost six months.

"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," Peter said when he stepped out of the elevator on the 21st floor. "Where you been?"

Of all the places, why did Peter have to be right there just when he arrived?

"Late start to the morning," Neal said and felt like a schoolboy. "Won't happen again."

Peter pushed the door open for him.

"Thank you."

They walked inside and Neal dropped his coat and hat on his desk. There was a flaming red-headed woman in Hughes' office talking to the senior agent.

"Who's that?"

"Kimberly Rice," Peter replied. "Rising star in the bureau."

He said it with such contempt that Neal took his eyes off the woman and watched Peter instead.

"You're not a fan."

"Nope," Peter agreed. "She works in Kidnapping and Missing Persons."

Neal watched Rice. She seemed energetic.

"What's she doing in White Collar?"

"She's here to see you."

What? He looked back at Peter.

"Whatever I did, I have proof I didn't do it."

Hughes left his office and pointed two fingers at them and gestured for them to come.

"Here we go," Peter mumbled and Hughes moved to the conference room with Rice behind.

"We just got the finger point," Neal said.

"The _double_ finger point."

"Must be serious."

"Yeah."

* * *

"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," Peter said to Neal as the kid stepped out the elevator right into a conversation he had. "Where you been?"

"Late start to the morning," the kid said. "Won't happen again."

Peter pushed the door open for him.

"Thank you."

As Neal passed him, Peter noted and a string of hair on the young man's shoulder. He picked it without Neal noticing. It was long, lighter in color than Neal's and it was not straight but wavy. So that was the reason he was late. Alex, Peter thought and put the hair in his pocket.

Neal had noted the new face in Hughes' office.

"Who's that?"

"Kimberly Rice. Rising star in the bureau." He had worked with her once when she was a probie. He had not recommended her. She saw more to her own good than what was best for the team and she certainly was not considerate when it came to suspects. To her credit, she was effective and intelligent. That was why she had briefly been on his team.

He saw Neal watching him.

"You're not a fan," the kid said as a statement.

"Nope. She works in Kidnapping and Missing Persons."

"What's she doing in White Collar?" the kid asked.

"She's here to see you." Now it was Peter's turn to watch for a reaction.

"Whatever I did, I have proof I didn't do it," Neal said without blinking.

Hughes left his office and pointed two fingers at them. Peter hated that gesture, even though he loved to use it himself.

"Here we go," Peter mumbled as Hughes and Rice walked to the conference room.

"We just got the finger point," Neal observed.

"The _double_ finger point." It was a difference.

"Must be serious."

"Yeah." He glanced at the kid. "Is there anything I should know about before we go in there?"

"Not that I can think of," Neal replied with an honest face. "I've never kidnapped anybody if that's what you mean."

They walked into the conference room.

"Rice," Peter greeted her without smiling or shaking hands.

"Burke," she greeted him in a similar fashion. Then she broke into a smile as the FBI poster boy appeared behind him. "And you must be _the_ Neal Caffrey," she said and offered her hand. "Agent Kimberly Rice."

Neal smiled and shook her hand back.

"I've just heard wonderful things about you," the kid lied and Rice glanced at Burke. Peter felt honored as the only one Neal never lied to.

"Let's get straight to it," Hughes said. "We've got a ransom situation."

"Name's Lindsay Gless," Rice said and placed a photo on the table. "She was grabbed last night in a home invasion. She's the daughter of Stuart Gless."

Peter sighed. He had a clue where this was leading and addressed the elephant in the room right away.

"As in the CEO of Atlantic Partners," he said and turned to Neal. "The company whose bonds you were convicted of forging."

"What's this kidnapping got to do with me?"

"You have a history with our prime suspect," Rice said.

"Ryan Wilkes," Hughes said opening a file, handing it to Peter. Neal glanced at the photo. "You know him?"

There was no reply from the kid.

"Neal," Peter urged.

"Yeah, yeah. Runs his own little crime syndicate. They work everything from grand theft auto to extortion."

Rice nodded.

"Then you used to run with him," she said.

"That's a rumor."

Peter sighed.

"Neal…"

"We may have tried working together once. But our styles didn't mesh."

Peter was not sure if it was just that he did not like Rice or if he was overly protective towards Neal, but he felt his pet convict being under attack and accused of something it was highly unlikely that he had been involved in.

"What makes you think Wilkes took the girl?" he asked Rice, putting emphasis on the name 'Wilkes' to point out who was the prime suspect on this scene.

"Chatter from CIs puts Wilkes in town. We also found traces of plasticine clay in a lock at the crime scene."

"Someone made a copy of the key," Peter concluded.

"It's Wilkes' m.o. And that's why we need Neal."

Peter sighed. Rice had valid a reason to seek Neal out after all.

"Neal."

"Stuart Gless likes to eat lunch at Ristorante Laurienzo every Thursday. At least he used to," he said. Hughes made a gesture like 'so what'. "There's only one valet there," Neal continued as if it was obvious. "Makes it easy to get your hands on his keys. Wilkes wanted in his house. He'd start there. I'd check the security tapes."

"That's good," Rice nodded. "That's good. I'd like to borrow Caffrey for the remainder of my case."

Peter did not want to lend Neal out to this agent. Not to someone who saw to her own ego first.

"If Wilkes is behind this, isn't it dangerous to put Caffrey on his trail?" he protested.

"Caffrey's proven he can take care of himself," Hughes pointed out. Peter glanced and Neal who shook his head not to bother to argue. "Neal, starting immediately," Hughes continued. "You report to Agent Rice."

"All right, great," Rice smiled. "Now that we're all on the same page, let's start with an easy one. When's the last time you saw Wilkes?"

Neal glanced down at the photo in the file.

"Probably when he tried to kill me."

Peter stared at the kid.

"Kill you? This man tried to kill you?"

"Yeah. As I said, our styles didn't mesh."

Peter turned to Hughes but before he had time to say anything Hughes said:

"Peter, you know that Caffrey has the same protection as any agent. Let's just leave it at that."

He glanced at the kid. He could not ask if he was okay with it. Neal had the same protection, yes, but he had no saying in where and how to spend his time.

"Call me if there is any trouble," he said half to Neal, half to Rice, but then sent her a look. "With his anklet or the marshals, I mean."

"Don't worry, Burke. I know how these things work."


	9. A handy tool

**A handy tool**

"All right, great," Kimberly Rice smiled at him. "Now that we're all on the same page, let's start with an easy one. When's the last time you saw Wilkes?"

'On the same page' she has said. Were they? He did not think so. He did not like this new assignment. He had hoped to never be involved with Wilkes ever again. Neal glanced down at the photo in the file.

"Probably when he tried to kill me," he answered the agent.

He saw Peter staring at him.

"Kill you?! This man tried to kill you?"

"Yeah. As I said, our styles didn't mesh."

He saw Peter turn to Hughes but it was in vain.

"Peter, you know that Caffrey has the same protection as any agent. Let's just leave it at that."

"Call me if there is any trouble," Peter said, and Neal read a message from his handler in it, even if he aimed the words to Rice. "With his anklet or the marshals, I mean."

"Don't worry, Burke. I know how these things work."

She turned to Neal.

"Neal, follow me."

It was not a question and he followed without argument. There was nothing in the deal saying that Peter had to be his handler. He had no means to refuse with less than he was going back to prison. They walked to the elevator and Rice pressed the button for the 12th floor. They were on their way to her office at Kidnapping and Missing Persons. It felt as if they went to another planet.

Neal made sure that nothing of his worries showed in his face as he followed her into her domains. She took no initiative to introduce him or brief him further. He recalled the first time he came to the White Collar office as a consultant with Peter after an already long day's work. Peter had introduced him to the people present, one by one, as if he was a new colleague.

Even as a man under arrest, the people handling him had told their names, from Jones doing the very first pat-down to Bobby who met him in prison.

"Does it bother you?" Rice said out of the blue, still walking, looking ahead.

"What?"

"The anklet. Does it bother you?"

Neal had no interest in starting over in that department. He was passed those things. It was there and he accepted it. Rice could not change that.

"That's the point with an anklet, isn't it?" he returned.

"Yeah," she agreed, without pausing for a second. "I guess that was a superfluous question."

As they walked into her office, Neal realized they had walked a longer way than necessary to get there. Had she paraded him through the office? Few could possibly know who he was here. Why would they? He had never been involved in any kidnapping. And they had glanced, not stared. A thought struck him. Had she showed him up because he was good looking? Seriously? Had she showed him up like some men liked to be seen with beautiful women?

Rice glanced at her papers on her desk and then at him.

"Wait outside, please."

Neal left the room and pulled the door shut. He surveyed the office, found the coffee machine and headed for it. Not because he would die for a cup of coffee, but because that was the place people liked to linger and chit-chat. Soon enough he realized that was not true in this part of the office. He made himself a cup of coffee and waited for Agent Rice.

She was an efficient woman and soon enough she marched out of the door and stared around the nearest area as if she had expected him to sit outside the door as an obedient dog. She saw him and walked to him. But instead of stopping, she passed him.

"Let's go, Neal."

He caught up. He was tempted to call her by her first name as well but decided to stay out of that conflict. He liked to be called by his first name, even by a person who probably did it to accentuate her own power over him.

"Where are we going?" he asked as they entered the elevator again.

"To see Stuart Gless."

Neal was not sure which one of the two from his passed he was less eager to see again, Gless or Wilkes.

They got into Rice's car and she drove is as she had stolen it. He had thought of Peter's driving as too safe for comfort sometimes, but he decided he preferred that anytime before Rice playing air-force pilot on low altitude. Especially when she talked on her phone without a hands-free and steered the car with one hand.

She stopped and they got out where he knew Stuart Gless was staying.

"We pulled the security tapes for Ristorante Laurienzo," Rice said as she opened the door and walked inside. "Got a positive ID of Wilkes. Nice work."

"Thanks."

"Something eating you?" she asked and Neal blinked. He thought he had his features under control, but it had been a tumblesome morning. And he was looking at two feds examining a woman's bag on the floor of the hallway. Gless' daughter's most likely.

Rice was already on her way up the staircase and he caught up.

"No, it's just last time I saw Gless, he was on the witness stand at my trial explaining why I was able to beat his company's unbeatable bond. I'm sure it didn't do wonders for his reputation."

Rice stopped and faced him at the top of the stairs.

"The man lost his daughter, okay?" she said in a low voice. "You want his forgiveness, help get her back."

Neal nodded. She had no idea what Gless needed to forgive him. It was just a simple pep-talk to make him do his job. He was about to anyway, with or without the man's forgiveness.

Rice walked ahead into a large room with wooden panels. A man in a gray suit and almost white hair stood with his back to them.

"Mr. Caffrey," he said without turning. "Been a long time."

"Mr. Gless," Neal began, "I want you to know—"

He saw Rice looking annoyed in the corner of his eye, but if she intended to say something, she had no time to do so.

"Agent Rice thinks you can find the people who took Lindsay," he interrupted Neal and turned, looking at him. "That's good enough for me."

Neal noted that it was not only a little over four years that added to the man's age. He was quite sure Gless had looked far more vital at his trial. He hoped it was just because of his missing daughter and not because of any damage he might have caused forging his bonds.

"Could you please just take us through what happened one more time?" Rice said and continued inside the room. Neal followed and stopped by her side. Gless' approval of his involvement had sure helped his confidence.

"I came home from the office," Gless began as he walked across the room to a sofa. He sat down. "Everything in Lindsay's room was knocked down. She was gone. Then he called. I told him I want proof she's okay. That's it."

"Did he give you any way to contact him?" Neal asked.

"No, he… uh…"

"He just hung up without giving you his demands?" That was odd.

"Would you mind excusing us for a moment?" Rice said and sounded overly polite like she bribed a kid with ice cream. "Neal, may I have a word, please?"

Neal saw Gless appeared confused. He gave the man a little excusing nod before he left with Rice. Out by the staircase, Rice turned and face him.

"What was that?" she asked.

Neal blinked.

"Sorry, what—?"

"Remind me again how much training you have interviewing parents of kidnapping victims."

Neal stared at her. That was an attitude he did not care much for. She knew who he was.

"You brought me into this," he reminded her.

"To consult," she shot back. "Not to take the lead with my witness."

Neal instantly knew why Peter had expressed such dislike towards her. No one in his team would ever claim ownership like that.

"Your witness? I thought we were on the same team."

"Let me get something clear right here, right now. You're a tool in my belt. Understand?"

"Tool in your belt. Got it." Neal even sent her a gracious smile. She did not need to know what he thought of her and her attitude. It would not improve the situation for any of them.

"You will listen and observe," she continued. "If I ask you to do anything, you do it. If I have a question, answer it."

"What if I have a question?"

"Then you run it by me. You do not under any circumstance address my witness."

"Oh, God. Sounds like a really great deal," he said with irony dripping. He was a felon with an anklet, but there was a reason he was out and not in prison. "But it'll work better if you treat me more like a partner. The way Peter and I do it—"

"I don't care how you and Peter do it," she cut him short. "I care how you and Agent Rice do it."

"Just wanna help find his daughter," Neal said with a helpful beam at her.

She did not appear impressed.

"Wanna help? Well, then keep your mouth shut unless I ask you to open it, okay?" Though it was not a question if it was okay or not. Neal had already expressed that it was not okay with him and she had just told him that he had no saying in the matter. As a matter of fact she was on her way back to Gless.

"Oh…" He raised his hand.

"What?" she hissed.

That made her pissed? Neal smiled. He had only started.

"Permission to speak?" he asked as he turned toward her.

"What?"

"Have you found any of Wilkes' prints around the house? He likes to use found items from the target location to cover his tracks. Check the gloves under the kitchen sink." It did not hurt to shine and show off a bit. If it made her stand in the shade and look bad, it would hurt even less.

"You have any more brilliant ideas rumbling around that head of yours?"

"No, I think that's it for now."

"Good. Then go wait in the car."

She swung around and marched out. If it had not been for him returning to Peter soon, Neal was quite sure he would prefer prison before working with this rising star, burning everything around her.

* * *

Peter watched Neal follow Rice to the elevator. He did not like the situation a bit. When Rice had been a probie in his team she had left with his strongest reservations. He had reprimanded her several times and she had not heeded his words. It was not so much about whether she was correct or not, because strictly speaking, she was correct nine times out of ten. It was all about attitude and reasons for doing something. And Rice was not a team player. She had never done anything for her team unless it served herself first.

"I know you don't like her," Hughes said behind him. "But she is an agent within this bureau. And I can't deny an agent with a clear record to borrow one of our assets, just because you disagree with her."

"I know, Reese. It's just…" He fought to find the words.

"I'm aware that Caffrey is in an exposed position, Peter," Hughes said. Peter nodded. Yes, the kid was indeed. He might enjoy his work for the FBI but his life was no pick-nick. Peter knew his boss was right. They could not just assume that another agent would take advantage of Neal's situation. If there were trouble, they had to handle it then.

When El called and asked if he could come home for lunch he considered it perfect timing. At home, she looked over his shoulder out on the sidewalk.

"Where's Neal?"

"Another department borrowed him."

"Oh? Pity. Well, I'll have to do with just you then," she smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

They sat down to eat and El chatted away about some problem with a client, an A/C that did not work. Peter's mind wandered. If Rice was the same as she had been as a probie she could very well not only use Neal but not care if it brought the kid back in prison.

"I'd have to run it by my husband first. But honey, it's a million dollars. What do you think?" El said.

"I think… I think that's great," he said, without a clue what she had been saying. By her look, he had said the wrong thing. "I don't think that's great. What did you ask me?"

"Okay, admit it. You're worried about Neal."

"No, I am not worried about Neal. Let's just have a nice quiet lunch without talking about him, all right?" He hated it when the kid ruined his lunch. Not that it was Neal's fault, but still. He took his half-eaten sandwich and took a bite. "Mm. That's a nice deviled ham right there."

His beloved wife did not let him away that easy.

"What's the problem?"

"Oh, something feels wrong about this case. I don't trust Rice."

"Rice?"

"Kimberly Rice," Peter said. "She's some hotshot from another division. She's Neal's handler on this one."

"If you're worried, go down and check it out," El said.

"Yeah, it's bad form to crash another agent's crime scene."

"That's never stopped you before," she pointed out. Peter looked at her with a smile. God, how he loved her. He relaxed and took another bite of his sandwich and realized it was not deviled ham at all. He smiled even more. Neal could sure infest his mind sometimes.

After lunch, he took a walk that just happened to pass Stuart Gless' home.

He strolled closer to the black cars, parked along the sidewalk. They seemed empty. But he saw someone sitting on the passenger's side in one of them. He walked closer recognized his pet convict, seemingly asleep. Peter knocked on the window. Neal opened his eyes, smiled and got the window down.

"Peter," he said happily. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Oh, I had a case in the neighborhood," Peter lied. "Thought I'd drop by."

"Uh-huh," the kid returned, probably not believing him for a bit. Why could he not stop lying to Neal? "I'm touched. You can't handle being apart from me."

"No," he agreed. That was the truth alright.

"So this has nothing to do with looking over Rice's shoulder?" the kid asked, not taking that 'no' for truth.

"No, don't read into it," he said. "How's it going with Rice? I see she's got you babysitting the car."

"She called me a tool in her belt," Neal said without a trace of a smile.

"I bet you're really starting to miss working with me."

"No, no," the young convict replied and Peter thought for a second that he finally caught Neal lying. Then he realized that he probably did not lie. He might have missed Peter from the second he was handed over to Rice. It had not started now.

Neal leaned closer to the open window.

"But I could stretch my legs."

When Neal was so obedient that he remained in the car then something was seriously wrong. Rice had not chanced. Peter opened the door for him and Neal stepped out, putting on his hat.

"Thank you."

"While we're here and you're stretching your legs wouldn't hurt to look around," Peter said, wanting to solve the case his way, longing to work with his pet convict and showing Rice that there were better ways to do things.

"No," Neal agreed, playing along.

"You know Wilkes' m.o. How would he handle an operation like this?"

"A home invasion? Theoretically, he'd have a driver, a strong man, and a lookout. Wilkes wouldn't trust anyone else to grab the girl. He'd handle that himself."

"So he's the strong man. Commendable. That leaves the driver right outside there," Peter pointed on the parking spot in front of the car. "Now, where was the lookout?"

"The sightlines are clean from there. To There," the kid said pointing along the street and then towards the park on the other end of the block.

"So you get better cover in the park." Peter scanned in that direction.

Neal, however, kept his eyes the opposite way.

"Alley gives eyes on both sides of the street and the intersection."

He trusted the young man's instincts.

"Let's go there," he said and they walked to the other end of the block and found a stair to the basement.

"Yeah, somebody's been here," Neal said at once. The gate was open when these things usually were shut and locked. "Looking both directions."

"Making sure the coast is clear."

Peter saw something small with divergent color on a step. He pulled out a hank from his pocket, walked down and picked it up with the cloth between. Neal sat down on his heels.

"Coat check stub," he said, showing it to Neal. He turned it over. "No name or address. I'll get it to ERT, see if they can recognize it."

"Don't bother," the kid said. "It's from a club. More like an underground casino. It's one of Wilkes' old hangouts."

"Nice of them to leave this behind for us." It could be a mistake. Or a trap.

Peter saw Rice coming out from the house and realize that the car was empty.

"God, where's Caffrey?" he heard her say.

"Oh, look," he smiled at Neal who rose and turned. "This ought to be fun."

"You find gloves?" the kid asked her as they walked back to the car.

"There's a fresh print inside the index finger. I want this pulled and sent to me ASAP," she said and handed a large zip bag to another agent. Then she glared at him. "What do you think you're doing here, Burke?"

"Helping you solve your case. Somebody spent some time watching from over there," Peter pointed, still with the stub in his hand, "and dropped this, which, according to my source came from an underground club."

"Then that's our next stop," Rice said without blinking.

"No. No," Neal protested. "Wilkes won't be there with the girl. If the FBI shows up, he'll go to ground and cut his losses."

"So why don't you put on your dancing shoes, Caffrey?" Rice said with an icy smile. "You're going clubbing. And Peter, next time I find you on my scene, I'm filing a report."

"You can't tell, but right now, deep down, I'm petrified."

He saw in the corner of his eye that Neal had to fight not to laugh. Rice yanked the stub from his hand with a glare and marched to her car and Neal joined. He turned though and sent Peter a wide grin.

"Nice," he whispered.

Peter grinned.


	10. Ransom

**Ransom**

At least Agent Rice did not mind Neal spending money on clothes. He had used the opportunity to buy some shirts from Pink, the English brand. He simply loved them but was way out of his official budget based on his income from the FBI. But he did not mind sending Rice a bill for a suit and three shirts when he had the chance. He had even added a tie and a pair of cuff-links to make the set complete. He had explained to her about his not entirely true wardrobe situation and that he needed something appropriate for going clubbing, told her he just owned a few second-hand unfashionable clothes.

Neal adjusted his tie under the supervision of Mozzie.

"You're letting the pantsuit use you as bait to catch Wilkes?" he asked from his position on the sofa. "Doesn't that strike you as insane?"

"I'm going to a club," Neal reminded him. "The feds will be right outside."

"This is the same Wilkes that wants you dismembered, right?"

"Dismembered is slightly overstating it. You're being paranoid."

Neal picked up his jacket. He liked his rat-pack suits, but he simply adored the lovely light-gray material in this new suit from Pink.

"Paranoia is a skill, the secret to longevity," Mozzie assured him. "Did you not join Wilkes' crew, gather intel from his targets, and then totally screw him over?"

True. Wilkes had valid reasons to dislike him.

"They were planning to hurt people with guns. I don't like guns." He had done the right thing. "For all we know, Wilkes is on his way to Tahiti right now."

"For all we know, he's sharpening his talons to tear into your spleen."

Mozzie despised violence. That was one of the things he loved about his friend. But it also made him believe that everyone capable of violence wanted to use it in exuberance.

"Thanks for your concern, Moz," he replied, not without annoyance. "But this little field trip is my best chance to get the anklet removed. Alex won't talk about the music box while it's on."

"Oh, you professional thieves, so high-maintenance," Mozzie rolled his eyes. "I'm washing my hands of this."

Neal's phone pinged. Again. He checked the message.

"Rice is here. Duty calls."

"I get the apartment," Mozzie said as he passed through the door. Well, the wine storage would not refill itself he would soon realize.

Neal got inside Rice's car and they flew across Manhattan. Then they parked near where the underground club was and waited.

"You know, you kept me waiting outside that rich lady's house for half an hour," she said, breaking the silence. It was true. And he had not been ready to leave when she first texted.

"You can't rush style, Agent Rice."

"Took me less time to get ready for my wedding," she snorted. Neal glanced at her and she saw it. She raised her left hand showing the lack of a wedding band on her finger. "It didn't take."

"I'm not surprised," Neal said and saw at once that he should have kept his mouth shut. "Statistically speaking," he added.

"Okay, it's time for you to go fishing, Caffrey."

Neal was not eager to leave the car. She had not brought up the anklet, so he had to.

"This is a hush-hush kind of place," he told her. "There's a good chance they'll be patting me down. Be a shame if my tracking anklet blew your case."

She brought up a pair of scissors.

"Cut it."

"Really?"

He took the scissors.

"I'm not an idiot. I'm not sending you undercover with that. Go on. Lose it."

Neal bent down, cut the band with its metal threads and handed it all to Rice.

"There you go."

It was hard not to smile. Now he could meet with Alex. He left the car and walked across the street. The gate leading to one of the club entrances was right ahead. A car blinked with its lights. So there was his backup. He stopped by the gate, hesitated. Then he turned to Rice and gestured that he would go around and try the other side, pretending it was locked where he was.

He was loyal to Peter. Kimberly Rice had given him no reason to be loyal to her. He would not give them a reason to put him back but he around the corner was dark and a lot of shadows. Where he could give Alex a call and meet her without anybody knowing. Neither Rice nor her agents would know who Alex was if they saw her coming and leaving.

Neal passed the gate into the churchyard going along the building with the church on the other side. His phone rang. It was from Peter.

"Peter, I'm in the middle of something right now, okay?"

"You need to get out of there now."

"What?" Peter could not possibly have figured out his plans, could he?

"Neal, you're the ransom."

Then he felt a stunning pain in his neck and everything went black.

* * *

Peter heard a sound from his phone that he was not sure he actually heard. He picked it up from his desk. It was an alarm alright and the particular alarm he had hoped never to hear again.

"Jones," he called through the open door.

The young agent was nearby.

"Yeah?"

"Caffrey just removed his anklet."

It was not the kind of trouble he had expected from the kid. Still, his mind was already figuring out what he needed to get the chase started.

"Yeah," Jones nodded. "Rice cleared it."

Peter stared and felt his pulse return to normal.

"Rice?"

He stared at Jones and realized he was disappointed. Neal was one of few who he had really enjoyed chasing. Probably because he left little damage in his tracks. Then his mind returned to reality. Rice? Why would she need Neal to cut the anklet?

His eyes fell on the father of the kidnapped child, hovering in their little kitchenette. He remembered Jones had said that he was here and just wanted to be here while they worked on the case. At the time Peter had been far too annoyed with the whole situation with Rice to case but now… Something was not right.

He walked down to the man, whose worries could be seen without being a behavioral expert. He smiled at the man and helped him to arrange for some coffee in his cup.

"Mr. Gless, right?" He got a nod in return. "I'm Agent Peter Burke. How you holding up?"

"Oh, had to get out of the house. Agent Rice said I could wait here."

Wait for what, Peter wondered as Gless sat down by the table.

"Of course."

He poured himself a cup of coffee as well.

"I didn't expect Caffrey to be so charming," Gless said and Peter smiled. "This would be so much easier if he acted more like a criminal."

"Yeah, of course," Peter replied with a nagging feeling.

"I just hope this goes right."

Peter smiled and tried to turn on his Caffrey-charm to make the man at ease.

"If it helps, I can walk you through it." He sat down opposite the worried father. "What are you worried about most?"

"The meeting."

"The meeting," Peter repeated. "What troubles you about that?"

"The kidnapper calls, then asks for a meeting with Caffrey in exchange for Lindsay. That seems too easy."

Peter fought to keep a straight face. He knew he had heard that right but could not believe it still.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Excuse me."

He rose and brought out his phone. He speed-dialed Neal.

"Peter, I'm in the middle of something right now, okay?" the kid answered.

"You need to get out of there now," Peter ordered.

"What?"

"Neal, you're the ransom."

Then there was an electrical sound and Peter thought he heard a body fall to the ground.

"Neal? Neal!"

The line was dead.

"Jones!"

"Yeah, what is it, Peter?"

"Call Rice and tell her to find Caffrey! Right now!"

He marched into Hughes's office, too angry for his own good, he knew it.

"Rice sold Neal," he burst.

The senior agent watched Peter from the other side of his desk without moving a muscle in his face.

"Calm down, Peter. I'm not the enemy here."

Peter nodded and took a few breaths.

"Now, tell me what you know," his boss encouraged and Peter told about the cut anklet and his conversation with Gless.

"And Caffrey is gone?"

"I hope her team gets there in time to stop… But…"

"Get Rice in here, with or without Caffrey."

Peter knew his boss well enough to know he was upset but professional enough to do his job and not jump to conclusions without the facts.


	11. Just follow the red dot

**Just follow the red dot**

Peter saw Rice walk into the office from his desk. She had two team members with her, talking to them. Then she stopped in the middle of the office and clapped her hands to get their attention.

"Okay, listen up, people. For the foreseeable future, you belong to me." Peter was on his feet. "I need traffic feeds from here to Yankee Stadium." He marched out and down the stairs. She was not walking into _his_ office taking command over _his_ staff after what she did to Neal. No way!

"You sold him out to get in the paper!" he interrupted her. "You hung Neal out to dry for a gold star on your resume."

"You better watch it, Burke," she hissed back at him.

"When we found that coat check stub for the club, you already knew what was going down." He was up in her face now. "But you kept your mouth shut so everything could go according to plan."

"What's going on here?" Hughes asked, appearing between them.

"She made a backroom deal with Wilkes. The girl in exchange for Neal." And now he had accused her in front of everyone. If he was wrong this would cost him.

"Rice, that true?"

"A man we believe to be Wilkes contacted Gless. He said he would give Lindsay back if he could have a face-to-face with Caffrey."

"A face-to-face? And you really think Wilkes would make good on that?"

"It was our one shot to get a lead on Wilkes and follow him back to the girl."

Peter's jaw was to tight he could have grind rocks in there. Rice stood there and defended her actions. Actions she never would have taken if it had been about a real federal agent. What was worse was that she did not even understand that she had made an unacceptable deal.

"I had agents all over that street," she finished her speech.

"How did that work out?" Peter shot back at her.

"Did you get any leads on the girl? Hughes asked.

"Wilkes made the grab in our one operational blind spot," Rice replied with a sigh.

Hughes pulled his hand over his face.

"Then you're no longer in charge. Peter, you're officially part of the show," Hughes ordered. Peter saw Rice open her mouth, but his boss raised his hand. "I don't wanna hear it, Rice. You report to Burke until you find Caffrey and that girl."

Rice remained silent. Amazing, he thought.

Peter glared at her. He had never wanted to kill anyone before, but if Neal was dead because of Rice he would make sure she suffered hell for it. He turned to leave but after a few steps, he had second thoughts. Peter walked back to her.

"If Wilkes had asked for a face-to-face with me, would you have done the same?"

She glared back at him.

"Caffrey—"

"Would you have done the same if it was about me?" Peter repeated. "Or your colleague?" He gestured to the woman beside her.

"Caffrey is a convicted felon," she stated as if that made a difference.

"That does not answer my question!"

"No. I would not have done the same. It's different."

"No, it's not," Peter objected. "You used Neal because he's a warden of the state, incapable of refusing because we own him and his time. You used him because he's a criminal. But I tell you what, Rice. Neal has a contract with us. Do you know what it says? It says that he has the same protection as any agent. We don't do to him what we don't do to ourselves. Just because he's in our care, incapable of saying no. That's a responsibility, not a goddamn opportunity to use him as bait!"

He got a glare in return.

"Peter…" he heard Hughes's voice behind him. The message from the boss was clear. Leave it, and focus on the problem at hand. Yeah, he would do that. If Neal was still alive, he would do what he could to save him. It would be a long night.

* * *

When Neal became aware of his existence again it was dark. The sounds and the vibrations told him he was in a car, but he was not sitting on a seat. He was sitting on hard metal, like a floor in the back of a van. The darkness was probably a hood. As far as he could tell he was not tied up. But his head felt like it could blow up at any time.

Someone pulled off the hood and the light blinded him for a second.

"Top of the morning to you," he heard and he had a pretty clear image of who said it. "Monster headache, right? It'll pass."

Neal's eyes adjusted. A man was leaning over him. He knew who it was and it was not a man he wanted to meet.

"Wilkes." The one and only. New suit since last time. And they were indeed in the back of a moving van.

"Seeing you again, Neal, brings back all these old feelings."

A second later Wilkes' fist hit him in his guts and he doubled. The pain in his head escalated by the quick movement. Neal took a deep breath and leaned back to his former position.

"If you wanted to meet for latte, you could've called."

"This way is better," Wilkes assured him. He had sat down on a box so he was probably not about to hit him again soon. "Pretty good, right? Had the fed snip your anklet off for me. She handed you over on a platter."

Had Rice known about this? Right now, Neal did not care.

"That's great," he said. "You're a lock for kidnapper of the year."

"Mm. That old Caffrey wit," the man smiled. "I love it. We could've been something. Thunder and lighting. But then you had to rip me off for, what, 500 grand?"

"I'll write you a check."

"Normally, I kill people for that sort of thing."

"But?"

"But today is your lucky day. You get to make it up to me."

"Look, man, what about Lindsay?" Neal asked. "You got me. Just let her go."

"Not yet."

The car slowed down and came to a stop.

"I'm gonna open these doors," Wilkes said and pointed. "You run or yell, I shoot you. And then I'll shoot the girl." So that was why he would not let go of Lindsay. He knew Neal's weak spot. He gestured to the other goon in the van and the door was opened. "Let's get started."

Neal pulled his hands through his hair. Kidnapped and without anklet was the worst possible scenario. He had to find a way to contact Peter. If at least his head had not been in such pain.

Wilkes offered him a hand and he was pulled to his feet. They stepped out of the van and he found himself on a street in New York. No other place he could have been transported to could possibly look like this and the cars had American plates.

"Agency," Wilkes said and pointed across the street, "booked travel for a gentleman by the name of Thomas Loze. He's on his way into the country right now. I need his itinerary. Flight, car service, hotel… Smile. It's a chance to put that silver tongue of yours to good use."

"All this trouble to have me infiltrate a travel agency. What's your angle?" Wilkes did not say anything. He just smiled that sly smile that Neal hated. "Ah, I'm frontman. You don't end up on surveillance cameras."

"You always were quick," he said and made it sound like something bad. "One more thing. Since we have a lot to do today it's important you know how serious I am from the jump. See her?" he asked and pointed at the woman inside the agency's doors. "Her name's Kathy, career receptionist. Kind of lady no one'll miss, except a couple of her kids. On that roof is my friend, Jim." He pointed up on the rooftop of one ow the lower buildings on their side of the street. "Jim has a sniper rifle aimed at Kathy. I give him the word, bang, lights out." He picked up a communication radio. "Wave at Neal, Jim."

The man did and Neal put on a ridiculous smile and waved back.

"And don't think you can borrow her phone and call for help. Be a sweetheart. Help the lady out."

"I'll get your information, okay?" Neal assured him.

"But will I get it in two minutes?"

"You're putting me on a clock?" He did not believe what he had just heard. "I can convince her. I just need time."

"You don't have it. Busy day. One minute, 52 seconds and counting."

"All right, I'm going," he said, started moving across the street. On his way, he pulled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He paused outside the door glancing in his image in the glass, rumbled through his hair a little. What he was doing? No time to dwell on that. At least his headache was gone.

"Hi there. How you doing?" he said, stressed but smiling to the woman by the desk.

"I'm fine." The answer did not open up to further conversation. She was busy.

"My name is Nick Halden. I'm an assistant with Level One Concierge Services."

He had her attention. She smiled and leaned across the desk.

"How can I help you, Nick Halden from Level One Concierge Services?"

"Uh, we got a big client coming to town, Thomas Loze. You booked his travel. I need to make a week's worth of five-star dinner reservations. Only I misplaced his itinerary. And I blow another account, I'm toast, so—"

"So it sounds like you need to find a new line of work," she said, still smiling.

"Come again?"

She pulled off her headset, no longer smiling at all.

"You know, people like you really piss me off. You waltz in here, you flash some sort of grin. Think you can get me to do something that would get me fired? I don't think so. But have a nice day."

She put her headset back on and returned to her work.

A red dot from a laser sight appeared on her forehead. Neal knew he had to try again or this woman would die. He saw a nametag on a keyring hanging on a pen in a cup on her desk. Good, then he had a reason to know her name.

"Please, please, Kathy. I really need this, okay?"

"I said, 'Have a nice day.'" That was frosty enough to chill a fire.

"Okay. Okay…" He walked to the door and watched the sniper. Oh, God!

"That is exactly what I'm gonna tell my son when I explain why Daddy lost his job," Neal said. He hated to play on people's bad conscious but it was that or she would be dead. "His daddy is a failure. I'm gonna level with you, Kathy," he continued and returned to her desk, looking as desperate as he felt. "I don't enjoy catering to guys who spend more on Courvoisier than I make in a year, but it's all I got. Who am I to think that I can do this job and raise a 5-year-old all by myself? I gotta tell Joey we're going back to Cedar Rapids. It'll break his heart. Kids bounce back, though. You know, they're tough."

Neal made a small prayer that the duck in yellow and black on Kathy's desk came from Iowa City. Cedar Rapids was next door.

"Cedar Rapids?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I'm from Iowa City. U of I, '88."

"No kidding?" he smiled back at her as she was now smiling at him.

Kathy put her hand over the microphone of her headset.

"You said Thomas Loze, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." To Neal's relief, she began to help him.

"Thank you." He felt his pulse return to normal. But this would not be the end of it. He had to contact Peter. He glanced around and saw a sign about their reward program.

"While you're at it, I might know someone who's interested in your rewards program," he said.

"Okay," she said, pleased. "Let me just send what you need to the printer."


	12. Round two

**Round two**

Neal left the agency with a paper in his hand. A paper that saved Kathy's life. And his, at least temporarily. He had sent a message to Mozzie. But only Mozzie would have any chance to see it for the call for help that it was. And from there to get it to Peter… Well, he knew Mozzie. When it came to contacting FBI, it might take some time.

"That's my boy," Wilkes said when Neal gave him the paper. He checked its contents. "Kathy's children thank you. Ready for round two?"

"I don't think I'm up for round two."

"That'd be an ill-advised life choice," he got as a reply from a face that could be carved in stone.

"Why? You'll kill me?"

"Don't test me, Neal."

"Tell Jim to put that red dot on my head and pull the trigger if you don't think I'm serious."

"It's like I'm talking Mandarin," Wilkes complained. "How about I kick things off by killing my sweet little hostage?"

"I'm starting to wonder if you even have Lindsay," Neal provoked.

Wilkes considered, looked over Neal's shoulder and made a gesture with his thumb. Neal turned his head and wondered if the last thing he would see was a red dot from a laser sight, blinding him. But no Jimmy as on the roof-top any longer.

"Why don't we take a break, let you think about this? Last thing I want you to do is… drag your heels."

Neal did not trust that smile at all. The van returned and stopped beside him. The door to the cargo opened.

"Please," Wilkes gestured. "Get in."

Neal did without fuss. Still, Wilkes shoved him towards the wall. Neal sat down.

"Where we going?"

"You talk too much," his kidnapper replied and gestured to the goon in the van. "Tase this man again."

It was nothing Neal wanted to experience again.

"That's really not nec—" The taser met his arm. He had a vague idea that he had screamed before he passed out.

* * *

Peter's colleagues had insisted on him getting some sleep during the night and now he was glad that they had. He stood in the conference room with every man and woman available, working on any clue they had found on Wilkes. They had even found that his grandmother was alive and lived in Wyoming. When Lauren had called, claiming she was an old classmate and she worked for the upcoming reunion party, the old woman had no idea where 'little Ryan' was.

Rice returned to the office.

"I've got BOLOs out on your van description," he told her. "N.Y.P.D. is canvassing the area where Neal was taken."

"We just found this in Gless' mail," she said and held up a CD. "It was sent before Caffrey was taken."

Peter hurried to put it into a CD player and turned the TV on.

The image of a brick wall and a girl holding yesterday's newspaper filled the image. The girl was Lindsay.

"Hi, Daddy, I'm okay, but you need to do what they ask. Now. Or I won't be okay. I love you."

And the film was over.

"All right, everybody, watch it again," Peter said. "Anything jumps out at you, call it."

"Hi, Daddy." The message started over.

Peter watched the brick wall, listened for sounds in the background.

"Place is falling where it stands," Jones noted beside him. "Crack along the wall. Funky windows."

"Pre-Civil War construction," Peter realized. That narrowed it down.

"You hear that?" Rice asked.

"Foghorn?" Peter wondered. "No, tugboat horn. Let's get it isolated," he told one of the agents. "We know she's by the water."

"There are more than 500 miles of waterfront in the New York area," Rice pointed out.

Peter addressed the room.

"I want search teams on the ground now. Everybody sweeping and canvassing any waterfront structure with cracked walls or funky windows."

Behind him, Lindsay's message still ran and the agents filed out.

"…Now. Or I won't be okay. I love you."

His phone rang. When he saw who was calling he smiled and walked towards his office.

"Hey, hon."

"Okay, you need to come home," El said firmly. "We have a visitor."

"I'm sorry, but I'm right in the middle of something now," he replied, still smiling. Speaking to El was such a relief from the stress.

"I think your 'something' is connected to the someone who showed up at our door."

That was cryptic. Had Neal turned up at his home? But then why did she not say so?

"What? Who's there?"

"Mozzie. And he's pretty worked up."

"That's his normal state," Peter sighed and sat down on the window sill. He had no time for that weird little man right now.

"I think it's important," El insisted.

"If it's important, tell him to come to the office."

"Mozzie in the FBI headquarters?"

From the background, he heard a very distinct 'Ha!'

"Yeah, he's not going," El concluded.

"Honey, I don't have time."

"It's about Neal." Mozzie had information about Neal?

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Neal was pulled out of the van with a hood over his head. Inside, the hood was pulled off and Neal saw that the man holding him was a big guy who did not say a word. They walked into a shabby room, like a basement. Neal had barely time to realize that there was a girl sitting there before the big man threw him to the floor, Neal hitting his head into the wall.

"Hey, you okay?" the girl asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Didn't even hurt," he sat up. "Lindsay?"

"Yeah. Who are you?"

For once Neal felt like a knight in shiny armor and not a criminal.

"My name is Neal Caffrey," he said and lowered his voice. "I'm with the FBI. I'm here to help you."

"Really?" she asked. "Who's gonna help you?"

No, he was no knight. He was con-man, for once trying to do the right thing.

"I'll admit, not the greatest rescue," Neal said.

"But the FBI knows we're here, right?"

"No, but the best agent the bureau has got is looking for us."

"Really?"

"Yes, trust me. If there's anyone in the world who can find me, it's him."

Because Neal was a criminal and Peter spent years searching for him and arrested him twice. If someone was a knight in all this, it was Peter.

He glanced at the big man who had sat down by a table, eating noodles.

"Nice manners," he told the man. "You know, you should chew your food."

"It's pretty foul, right?" Lindsay giggled in a low voice.

"Yeah."

"He burps when he swallows."

"Nice."

Chinese takeaway and a gun on the table. Neal was certain which one of those he hated most.

"Did you say your name was Neal Caffrey?" Lindsay said. By the look, she knew she had a clue who he was.

"Yeah. And I think you've heard that name before."

"But you said you worked with the FBI."

"I do," Neal assured her and decided to be honest with her. "Now, I do. When I forged your father's bonds, I didn't."

"No offense, but how come you're here, and how can you work with the FBI if you're a criminal?"

Neal moved from the floor to the window sill instead. It was more comfortable.

"It's a long story. But I serve what remains of my sentence with a tracking anklet working for the FBI. Wilkes cut my anklet, so I know they are looking for me."

Speak of the trolls and they appear, Neal thought as Wilkes and a number of goons walked into the room.

"So you've met Lindsay. Now are you gonna join me for round two or does it get ugly?"

"What's round two?" Neal wanted to know.

"Why would I want to ruin the surprise? In or out?"

Neal rose and saw Linday's eyes on him. He hoped to be her knight in shiny armor after all.

"Let's get this over with."

He got the black hood pulled over this head again and they walked out to the van. Inside it was pulled off. Neal had no wish to be tased again so he kept his mouth shut and did not ask any questions.

"I spent a great deal of money making sure Mr. Loze's limo gets quietly sidetracked," Wilkes told him after a while.

"Let me guess," Neal said, "I'm his new driver."

"He'll be carrying a titanium briefcase. Your job is to take it."

"Any suggestions on how I do that?"

Wilkes picked up a gun from a bag.

"Come on, man, you know I don't like guns," Neal objected. As if to please him, Wilkes took out the clip and removed the bullets one by one spraying the floor with them. Then he put the clip back and handed it to Neal.

"I really don't like unloaded guns," Neal muttered. He did not like violence and threatening someone with a gun could cause exactly that. If it was a threat without a substance he put himself in greater danger than the one he pointed it at. Nevertheless, he hid it inside his belt.

"Be at this address by four and our business is complete," Wilkes said and handed him a note. "I tell you where I'm keeping the girl and we go our separate ways. But be a minute late or call your fed friends and I make a call. And Lindsay… Well, you know what happens to Lindsay."

"You're not gonna stick around for the show?"

"On this one… I'll keep my distance."

Neal grabbed the driver's uniform cap Wilkes handed him.

Interesting. So who was the guy he was about to pick up? He got the feeling that Wilkes wanted to avoid more than the security cameras. Neal had lost time of how much time had passed. Was it possible that Mozzie had reached out to Peter?

* * *

The road home felt like an eternity for Peter. If Neal had no way to contact him directly he would, of course, send a message to the short guy. Just the fact that the fellow had contacted his wife to get that message through said a lot.

"Honey?" he called out when he burst through the door.

"In here."

He rushed into the living-room where El and the short guy were sitting drinking tea by each end of the table.

"Mozzie still won't tell me what he does for a living," his wife said. "Do you know?"

"I know enough not to ask. Why are you here?"

"I received this," Neal's friend said and pushed his phone across the table. Peter looked at the display.

"'Elite Voyages. Come frolic with us,'" he read. Commercial?

"Look at the e-mail address."

"Dante Haversham."

"Remember the alias I gave when Neal introduced us?" Mozzie asked. "See, some things do have secret meanings."

"I believe you on this one," El said. "Is Neal okay?"

"I don't know. That's a distress signal."

Peter had already understood that. He dialed Jones' number.

"It's Jones," the young agent answered. "Found anything Peter?"

"Yeah, I want you to check out Elite Voyages for me. Check anything that has happened there since Caffrey disappeared."

"Will do."

"Thanks. See you soon."

Peter hung up.

"So you've lost Neal." It was not a question from the short guy. "And he didn't run, because then he wouldn't have sent me that signal."

"I know he didn't run," Peter assured him.

"But you lost him. That means that he is kidnapped, or else he would just have called."

"I can't tell you anything, Haversham," Peter said, already on his way out. "But rest assured I didn't put Neal in that situation. Thank you for dropping by."

Peter had to fight to keep the speed limits on his way back to the office. He rushed inside as he had into his house. In the conference room, Peter saw Neal's image on the TV-screen.

"Any luck on the tip?"

"Three hours ago, Caffrey goes into Elite Voyages asking for the itinerary of a Thomas Loze," Rice told him. She was efficient, Peter noted.

"Do we know him?"

"Pulled a file from Interpol. Turns out that Loze happens to be a favorite alias of Edward Reilly."

Rice handed him a photo. She did not seem to know that name, but Peter did.

"Edward Reilly," he sighed. "The hits keep coming. He's the go-to guy when VIP criminals want something valuable moved. Hand-delivers everything, which is all the guarantee anyone needs. He's dangerous. My guess, Wilkes is snooping around Reilly's itinerary because he's planning a surprise for him."

"Wilkes is planning a rip-off," Rice agreed.

"Using Neal as the face of his whole show," Peter realized.

A man came in and handed Rice a paper.

"Reilly's on a flight from Sydney," she read. "Touches down in an hour."

"And we'll be there to meet him," Peter said.


	13. Death by card crash

**Death by card crash**

Peter sent in Jones and a team under him inside the airport to check if they saw Neal or Reilly. They were all undercover and there to keep a low profile and not blow anything. After a minute or two, Jones reported that it was nothing of interest inside.

Peter waited outside, dressed in a jacket and a cap. He scanned for Neal among people walking towards the terminal.

Then he saw the kid. Not the smiling charmer, but a grave and worried appearance. To Peter's amusement, the always observant young con-man passed him without noticing his friend and handler. Peter hurried after him.

"You know where I can catch a shuttle to the city?"

Neal turned, and Peter saw a brief smile of relief.

"No need for the cloak and dagger, Peter," he said and walked towards the entrance door Rice held open. "Wilkes isn't here."

"We're here to help you get out of this," Rice said as the kid passed her.

"That's ironic coming from you, Agent Rice."

So the kid had figured that out. Good. Then it would not come as a surprise later.

"Listen," Peter said, following Neal, "this Loze guy you're going after, it's Edward Reilly."

Before Peter had any time to tell who this guy was, Neal cursed.

"Damn. No wonder Wilkes doesn't wanna be anywhere near this."

Still, the guy did not slow his steps. Whatever the kid was thinking of doing, he was determined to continue. Peter took a step in front of him and stopped Neal.

"You go through with this, Reilly will hunt you down."

"If I don't get his briefcase to Wilkes by four, he'll kill Lindsay."

Neal was so good-hearted it was painful sometimes. Why, oh why, did he had to be a criminal? Peter sighed.

"You sure about that?" he asked.

"Her guard wasn't wearing a mask. And he has a silencer."

"So you saw her," Peter read between the lines.

"Yeah."

"Where?" Rice cut in.

"I don't know. They tased me," Neal cut back in a tone that told her he had no interest in talking to her. The kid turned back to Peter. "Tell me you're close to finding her."

If Neal had seen her, there was not a chance that Peter knew more than Neal.

"She's in an old building near the water."

He thought Neal would sigh, but his eyes lit up.

"Her guard was eating from a restaurant called Wok of Fire."

"Chinese takeout near the water," Rice said to Peter.

"We can work with that." It narrowed it down a lot. "Come on."

"Hey, I'm staying here," Neal said, not moving. "If you don't get to Lindsay in time—"

"Yeah." That was Neal in a nut-shell. Peter did not want to put the kid in danger, but they were short on time. To argue would not get them closer to find Lindsay. He put his hand in his pocket and handed Neal a small earpiece.

"It's a two-way transceiver," he said, and Neal put it in his hear. "Jones will keep an eye on you. His team will stay out of sight." But hopefully able to stop Reilly from killing Neal. "Don't do anything stupid."

Neal sent him a grin.

"Too late."

Peter smiled.

Rice lingered when he started to leave.

"Good luck," he heard her say. Nice try to mend it with Neal.

If he knew the kid, he would tolerate her but never trust her. Once someone had proven unworthy of his trust, there was no way it could be mended. Considering how Neal reacted when he thought Peter had betrayed him, this con-man took it seriously. Criminal or no criminal, he trusted Peter, the FBI agent, his natural foe, for some reason he would never quite understand. Could it be because Peter had never used his power to diminish or humiliate Neal? Peter wished he knew more about Neal's background. If the kid knew what it was like to be used by someone with power, he was likely to trust someone with authority who treated him as a human.

* * *

"Jones will keep an eye on you," Peter said, and Neal saw Jones glancing at their direction from an arcade game. "His team will stay out of sight. Don't do anything stupid."

It was not a matter of not doing anything illegal, but merely a request for staying safe. Peter cared for him. Neal smiled.

"Too late."

Peter smiled and walked away.

"Good luck," Rice said. It sounded almost as an apology. Neal did not care. Peter was in command now it seemed.

It was time to save Lindsay. Peter on his side, Neal on his. He continued to walk towards where he would meet 'Loze'. A stewardess in uniform dropped a scarf as she passed.

"Excuse me," Neal called out as he picked it up. "You dropped this."

"Oh, thanks," she smiled at him. Maybe the last smile he got in life. 'Edward Reilly.' Peter was right when he said the man would hunt him down if he screwed him.

"I don't care what you're doing here," a familiar voice said beside him. Neal turned and saw Moz. "As a friend, I insist you pull the ripcord."

"You got my message," Neal smiled. Faithful, trusted Mozzie. He just wanted to hug the man but knew Mozzie would strongly disapprove and would likely take a bath in some antibacterial substance afterward. His friend had told Peter somehow and even turned up to help. Well, that might soon change.

"What's with the driver's outfit?" Mozzie asked.

"I'm about to rob Edward Reilly."

"_The_ Edward Reilly?" Mozzie asked and Neal nodded. It was as if it took a moment for his friend to take in. "What's your plan, a gun in the glove compartment?"

Neal knew that was irony, but, well…

"That's your plan?" Mozzie asked in disbelief. "A gun in the glove compartment?"

"Long story, but one way or the other, I'm taking his briefcase."

Mozzie stared at him silently, as if he expected there to be something more come. When Neal did not say anything more, Mozzie looked as if he was about to faint.

"Well, surely you won't do this, because you're not suicidal."

Neal sighed. Well, he could not insist on help.

"Thanks for the pep talk." He walked away.

"But what if he gave it to you?" Mozzie said behind him. "And was happy to give it to you?"

"Zigzag scam?" Neal asked. And Mozzie thought of him as crazy? But if Reilly did not know he had been robbed…

Mozzie dug in one of his deep pockets and brought out two IDs.

"One for me. One for you." Neal glanced at the ID Moz gave him. 'Halden'. When did he had these made? "Time to get into character," his friend continued and switched his pair of glasses for an identical pair.

"You're a chameleon."

"Yeah."

Did he know that ordinary people did not see the difference? Well, if it made him feel more ready to take on a killer, then it was fine by Neal.

Neal did not know what Reilly looked like, but drivers rarely did. So he wrote a sign with 'Thomas Loze' on and waited where booked drivers usually picked up their clients.

A man with a metal briefcase approached him. Neal put on his innocent, naive smile.

"Mr. Loze? My name's Nick. I'll be your driver today."

"Been on a plane for 22 hours. I don't give a damn what your name is, kid."

"Got any other bags there?"

"No."

"Let me take your case for you."

Reilly pulled it away from Neal's eager hand. So many times he had stolen things for the challenge, why could it not be just that easy when he wanted it too?

"Just take me to the car."

Neal walked ahead with a tired and grumpy killer behind him. Even if the killer in question had no interest in him, Neal was not comfortable and was pleased to see Mozzie walking towards him.

"Thomas Loze? Agent Haversham. Immigration and Customs Enforcement," Mozzie flashed his ID. "Word is you're bringing something into the country we should know about."

"This a joke?"

"Do I look like I'm joking, Elvis?"

Acting had never been Mozzie's strong suit, and Neal felt it was time for the next surprise. He flashed his ID too.

"Agent Halden, Joint Task Force. We're gonna need you to open the case." The man's eyes passed from one of them to the other. They were in the terminal with hundreds of other people.

"Doesn't have to be a scene if you don't want it to be," Neal assured him.

"Okay," Reilly said and held up the briefcase. "You guys really want to do this? Knock yourselves out."

Neal grabbed the case and wished he could just run with it.

"Let's go."

They walked to an empty part of the terminal, and Neal placed the briefcase on a table.

"Open it for us, please."

Reilly rolled to the right figures on the code locks and unlocked it. When they snapped open, Mozzie pointed at him.

"Palms on the table!"

The killer backed away and did indeed place them on the table at the far end.

Neal opened the lid and stared at the ordinary contents of any traveler's suitcase. A hairbrush, toothpaste, some clothes. It was even used stuff.

"Looks like an overnight bag," Mozzie mumbled.

"When this is through, I want badge numbers," Reilly barked from the end of the table. "You can't prove probable cause; it'll be both your asses."

"Shut your hole and kiss wood, Reilly," Mozzie called back. Neal looked up and saw the man's stunned face. He had not missed that he had just been called by a name he should not. "Yeah," Mozzie continued, "we know who you really are!"

Damn, Neal thought. This could be really troublesome. Neal kept on searching.

"I just said that to a guy who enjoys killing people with his bare hands," Mozzie mumbled to him with his back to the man.

"Keep it together, Moz," Neal said.

He knew there must be something in this bag. Wilkes wanted it, and Reilly had begun to rattle them when they searched it. Then he saw it. Metal buttons where there was not supposed to be something to keep together.

"Hold on a second," he said and pulled. The lid of the briefcase held another layer. Neal and Mozzie were staring at least a hundred of gold cards so shiny that it made the bag glow in front of their eyes. They were neatly arranged like they were on display in a store.

"Wow," Neal breathed.

"Pure gold. Think they're preloaded?" Mozzie asked.

"Well, that would explain Wilkes' interest in them," Neal said, not caring if Reilly heard the name. "Load them up, couple hundred thousand each—"

"And you've got a portable fortune," Mozzie finished. "Perfect for the smuggler on the go."

"I want my lawyer," their killer said.

"Oh, you'll need him, Chachi," Mozzie yelled back.

"I'd say you're staring down at ten years, easy," Neal told the man and turned to Mozzie. "Call the cavalry."

"Imagine what you could do with just one of these babies, huh?" Mozzie said when he was fumbling with his phone.

"Make for a great night out," Neal agreed and then stared at his unwilling, tempted partner. "Call it in, Haversham."

"It's just I promised Sarah that necklace. With the diamonds."

"So?"

"So she's gonna leave me, man."

"And you think this is the way to keep her? This isn't the way."

"Oh, don't tell me how to keep a woman, blue eyes. Guys like you, with your million-dollar smile and your thick, perfect head of hair, you don't get it."

Mozzie was no actor, and he was talking way too loud for someone who should be tempted but ashamed and not bragging about it. Neal glanced at Reilly, who seemed amused.

Neal leaned close to Mozzie and whispered:

"Don't do this to yourself."

At least one of them had to do this realistic.

"Listen. This is my suitcase, right?" their bad guy suddenly interrupted their moral dilemma. "So maybe I left it on the plane."

Neal stared at him.

"What, I gotta spell this out for you, gentlemen?" the man continued and left his position at the table.

Oh god, they had successfully conned Edward Reilly. Neal took a deep breath.

"All right, call it in," he told Mozzie. "Tell him Loze was clean, we cut him loose. Come on. Call it in."

"You guys are all right," Reilly said with a smile, stretched his hand out into the case, and took one of the cards. "Gotta get home somehow, right?"

None of them objected, and Edward Reilly turned and walked away out of their lives. And there they stood with the briefcase and Neal's only remaining trouble was Wilkes.

"Closest I've come to death this year," his friend said.

"All right, thanks for your help, Moz." Neal started to get the briefcase back into the original appearance.

"Could I— ?"

"No." One card missing could be overlooked by Wilkes. Two, no. And besides, the FBI was listening. Mozzie had been smart enough to use aliases already known by Peter and his team for the IDs. He locked the case and took his driver's hat. It was time to meet Wilkes.


	14. Neal says hi

**Neal says hi**

Peter began to feel desperate. They had found Wok of Fire, but it was further away from the water than they had hoped. But at least there was only one restaurant with that name. Peter set his GPS for the closest dock and drove. He saw a tail of FBI cars behind him. When he had reached the road's end he sprung out and was soon caught up by Rice.

"This is the closest dock to Wok of Fire," she told him.

That much Peter already knew. When he saw the old brick buildings matching the type of wall behind the girl he got hopeful.

"That sounds like our tugboat horn," Peter noted. He looked around. The whole dock was full of red brick houses. "So where's our girl?"

"I hope you're feeling lucky," Rice said, sounding pessimistic. "It's almost 4. Caffrey's out of time."

She left and Peter saw the men they brought spread out, searching for the right building.

"Neal, you copy?" he called into his radio. "Neal?"

"Tell me you found Lindsay," Neal answered.

"We're gonna need more time."

"It's 4, Peter. I'm already here."

"Then stall. He gets his hands on the case, the girl's dead."

He knew it was a heavy responsibility, but the kid had chosen the part himself. Neal and Jones had to work on their own. Peter could not waste time and energy to worry about them. He hurried after Rice.

They searched along the docks, passing building after building. It felt like they all looked the same.

Until… Peter slowed down.

"Wait, wait," he halted Rice. "Give me the still from that proof-of-life tape."

Rice turned to one in her team and Peter got a photo of the girl with the wall behind in his hand.

"What do you see?" she asked.

Peter held up the photo.

"Same crack in the wall," he said. "That's our place."

They both grinned.

"We got them."

* * *

Jones caught up with him on his way out. The agent kept a low profile just in case.

"Well done, Caffrey," he mumbled.

"Thanks."

"Where's the pickup-point?"

Neal handed him the note Wilkes had given him.

"Stay low, Jones, okay?" he requested.

"Sure thing, Caffrey."

They exchange a short nod and Jones was gone. Neal walked to the car that Wilkes had lent him with the driver's role. Time to deliver a briefcase.

When he got there it turned out to be a lonely, forgotten place beside the railroad tracks in Dutch Kills.

"Neal, you copy?" he heard Peter in his earpiece. "Neal?"

"Tell me you found Lindsay," he said.

"We're gonna need more time."

"It's 4, Peter. I'm already here."

"Then stall," his handler shot back at him. "He gets his hands on the case, the girl's dead."

Neal sighed. Peter was right. The white van he knew by now came towards him. Stall how? The case was right beside him.

His eyes returned to the case. What if…

Wilkes stepped out. Neal opened the case and watched all the cards. There was no time to hide them somewhere else. But…

His nemesis honked the horn, impatient. Neal gave him an assuring gesture, closed the briefcase, and stepped out of the car.

Wilkes walked closer, but not too close. They watched each other on each side of a poodle on the worn tarmac.

"Right on time," Wilkes said from his side. "I love that."

"Where's the girl?"

"Unfortunately, I won't be sharing that information with you."

Neal was not surprised.

"We had a deal, Wilkes."

"I lied," he got in return. Then a nod to the case. "Give it to me."

Neal threw him the case and the man caught it. He placed it on the ground but when he opened it he found it empty. Neal had removed all Reilly's fake items just before he left the car. So all Wilkes saw was en empty case where he thought it would be gold cards. It was as if he neither seemed surprised. He rose and glared at Neal.

"And I thought we had a nice thing going on."

"You lied, I lied," Neal smiled. "It's like a dance."

Wilkes was not as amused. From behind his back, he pulled his gun.

"You pull that trigger, those gold cards I stole from Edward Reilly are gone forever."

"If I don't have those cards in my hand in ten seconds I'm gonna make a call and I'm gonna kill the girl," Wilkes stated. "Then I'm gonna take my time with you."

Neal stayed cool.

"Five seconds. Three seconds. Now my guys are gonna have to kill that nice man's daughter."

He brought out his phone.

"Who says they're still your guys?" Neal improvised.

"Is that your play? You turned my crew against me? I expected more from you."

Neal shrugged.

"Who do you think has the gold cards?"

"You left them with my guys? You're not that dumb."

"You brought me into this. I bring up the average. Unfortunately, that makes you less valuable," Neal continued. "Your men agreed. It's time for new management."

"You're lying."

He was so sure of his men's loyalty, or the lack of time Neal had had, that he could say that without a hint of doubt.

"Call if you think I'm bluffing," Neal said.

"I think you're bluffing."

He made the call and it was nothing Neal could do to stop him.

"Kill her. And leave the phone on speaker."

Neal could hear his own heart pulse in his ears. He had to think of some way to stall, just for a second.

"FBI! Put that down! Now!" he heard from the phone though Wilkes had it to his ear. "Drop the gun! Drop the gun!"

"Damn it!"

"Sounds like they got company," Neal said.

Wilkes lifted the briefcase and threw it into the wall of the nearest building. It sprang open. So did the hidden compartment and the gold cards spilled out on the ground.

Both of them stared.

When Neal's eyes were back on his kidnapper he saw a muzzle of a gun.

"I guess that makes you obsolete," Wilkes told him.

"Now, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Neal took a step back, raising his hands in panic. Then he saw that Jones had his back and he pointed at Wilkes' chest where red dots from laser sights began to assemble. "I got friends with sniper rifles too."

"FBI! Drop your weapon!" Jones yelled behind him. "Drop it! Drop your weapon now!"

Wilkes did and raised his hands. A sturdy agent came up behind him and cuffed him. Wilkes kept glaring at Neal the whole time. It crossed his mind that this was the normal guys he had as friends in prison. A different situation then. Now he had helped the authorities to put guys in there. And guys like Wilkes would do anything to kill him. Not a pleasant thought.

"Agent Burke, we got Wilkes," Jones called in.

"We're secure here," Neal heard Peter's response. "We got the girl. What about Neal?"

Neal raised his hand in a greeting, too tired and worn out for anything else.

"He says hey," Jones translated to Peter and sent Neal a wide grin.

"Thanks, Jones."

"Thank _you_, Caffrey. You did a great job."

"So did you."

"Let's get back to Burke and Lindsay now." Jones guided him to a car.

On the way there Neal remembered that he still did not have his anklet on. And that he had planned for a meeting with Alex. Did he still want to do this? Not that he ever wanted to be in prison, but he had not been in any danger there. He could not count on that any longer. It had been troublesome enough when he was back because of that jewelry heist.

But he needed to find Kate. He could not let this go.


	15. A rare moment

**A rare moment**

Peter watched the girl Lindsey threw herself in the arms of her father, who just arrived at the docks. He heard another car arrived and saw Neal step out of it, together with Jones.

"Where you been? Missed all the action."

"Oh, yeah? I got hung up with an old friend."

Peter took a good look at the kid. He had been kidnapped and put under a lot of strain.

"How'd that go?" he asked.

"Think I may have burned a bridge," Neal answered without a hint of trauma. He watched Lindsay and Gless hugging with Rice hovering nearby. "Looks like Agent Rice is ready for her close-up. Heard the camera crews are already on their way."

"Let her have it." Peter had never cared much for that kind of attention.

Rice though pointed at them and gestured for them to come. Peter was flabbergasted. She of all people!

"Oh, jeez," his pet convict whined beside him. "Did she just give us the finger point?"

"She did."

They walked over to the reunited family.

"You're the men responsible for bringing my daughter back," Gless held out his hand towards Peter. He shook it.

"We're all a team here," he said.

"Mr. Gless—" Neal started.

"I'd say we're more than even now, Caffrey," Gless interrupted.

"Thanks," Lindsay said to Neal, "for playing round two."

"Don't mention it."

The happy family left. Rice turned to Neal.

"Was a hell of a thing you did today."

"I could say the same thing about you," the kid replied.

Rice looked at her feet for a second.

"No hard feelings?" she asked.

"Don't…" Neal shook his head slightly, "stretch it."

To Peter's surprise, Rice did not. She just nodded, accepting the facts. And he was even more surprised when he saw her leaving. Peter followed her.

"You're not sticking around for the press? You're the hottest interview in town."

"I probably have a disciplinary hearing to prepare for anyway," she said. "About how things went down last night—"

"Oh, look, in the end, we got it done." If she had learned something from it, Peter was happy.

"Yeah, even so…" she said. "I hope we work together again sometime. _Even_ if you're the one calling the shots."

"One day, I'll remind you that you said that."

They shared a grin, and Rice continued towards her car. Jones came up to him.

"Got Caffrey's anklet."

Peter blinked and turned to Rice.

"Thought your people already put it on him."

"Not me. He's your consultant, remember?"

Peter sighed. Then he realized that Neal was not around any longer. The kid has disappeared into thin air.

"Anybody seen Caffrey?" he called out to the agents and police officers standing around them. He just got a 'no, sir' in return. There were at least ten people around!

"Damn it," Peter cursed. "You gotta be kidding me." Rice just smiled and left.

Peter held out his hand to Jones who gave him the anklet.

"Jones, let's check the usual suspects."

"You don't think he has escaped, do you?" Jones asked.

"No. He'll be back in two hours or so. Claiming he forgot about it."

"But?"

Peter shook his head.

"Let's just keep it at that for the time being."

They got in the car and drove back to the office. After all things Neal and been through that day, he still had the wits to use the time off-anklet. When all was safe and done, he reminded himself. The kid had done his job with splendor. Then he had disappeared. He sat down by his desk and wrapped up the work for the day. He saw Neal exit the elevator and jog through the office.

He held up the kid's anklet without looking at him.

"Forget something?"

"Made it all the way home before I realized it was gone."

"Just slipped your mind?" Peter glanced at Neal who grinned all over this face. When he saw Peter's look the smile was gone.

"I came back," his pet convict pointed out.

"What did Alex have to say?" Peter asked and saw to his amusement that Neal was taken aback. "You had a long brown hair on your jacket," he explained. "How many brunettes you meet before work? Don't answer that."

Peter watched the young, brilliant man. A man who so stubbornly insisted on living in a dream world, chasing a girl who left him. Twice.

"All your brunettes seem to be connected to that music box. You and Alex are planning to steal it, aren't you?"

A direct question, straight on, no room for loopholes. He was quite sure Neal did not approve of the approach.

"She's just an old friend."

Considering what situation he had found them once, acting or not, he was quite sure that statement was the truth. But friends could be more than 'just old friends'.

"She's a fence, Neal. She either knows how to find things or sell them. People like that don't trust the FBI." He finished up his work for the day and faced his friend and pet convict. "That's why you walked away without your anklet."

It was not a question. Peter was sure his theory was right and he did leave even less room for Neal to tell any of his avoiding answers.

"That's a fascinating theory."

Peter snorted. He supposed he should be pleased that Neal did not lie at least. He took one step closer to the kid.

"I'm willing to look past your little trip off the reservation because you did well today."

"Thank you—" the kid began but Peter did not want to hear it. He raised his hand.

"Don't. Remember how it felt when you saw that girl in her father's arms. Moments like that are rare." It was one of those moments that made Peter stay on his job. "But if you try to steal the music box, I _will_ catch you."

He had no wish to do so, but he would. To be a handler meant that you had to be prepared to do so, no matter friendship. And Peter was prepared to cuff him and bring him back if needed. And he would never forgive Neal for putting him in that situation.

Neal blinked.

"Is that a threat?"

No. Peter shook his head.

"Just the way it is."

He passed Neal, took his coat and left the office. In the door, he paused and looked again at the young man. At least the kid did not smile so maybe what it was worthwhile saying what was on his heart.

"You know, you can either go back to wearing an orange jumpsuit and pining for the girl that got away or you can stay here and do something good with your life. Your choice."

* * *

Neal took a cab home and then jogged up the stairs. He would have just so much time before Peter would burst inside. He opened his door out of breath.

"You're late," Alex blamed him across the table.

"Long day."

"What's with the outfit?"

"Long story."

He pulled up the left leg of his slacks to show that he did not carry any anklet.

"Congratulations," she smiled and leaned back in her chair. "How'd you do it?"

"You'd be surprised what I get done in a day. I kept my promise. It's your turn."

Alex's tall, sexy body rose from the chair. She held a pink origami flower.

"I give you this… and we get the music box together."

"No, I told you," Neal reminded her. "It's yours when I'm through with it."

"I don't like the sound of that. We split it fifty-fifty."

"What you gonna do with half a music box?"

Alex did not appreciate the joke.

"And if you screw me on this, you know I can make your life miserable."

This was a woman he had shared his bed with, considered if he loved even. He walked close to her.

"When did you become so distrusting?" he asked, looking deep into those green eyes of hers.

"When what happened with Kate," she answered without a hint of being affected by his presence.

"Happened?"

"Yeah."

Had she been that hurt when he left? He had not fully realized to what depth.

"That's over now," he assured her.

She did not trust him. And he could not blame her.

"Nice flower," he said instead.

"I learned from the best." She gave it to him and he unfolded it. Inside was a written message. He stared at it. And then at her. She smiled.

"You go halfway around the world chasing something," Neal said, amazed, "and the whole time, it's in your own backyard."

It would not be easy, but it was doable.

Alex took her bag.

"See you soon, Caffrey."

He watched her leave. He still had that magic, pink note from Alex in both hands. As the door closed he took a few steps out on the balcony. The music box was so near! It was real and he could take it. He would get Kate back.

In his apartment, there was a solid piece of furniture fixed to the wall. A chest of drawers of sorts, with a big mirror on. It also had a few hidden compartments. Neal put Alex's note in one of them and then hurried down the stairs. He caught a cab to get back to the FBI headquarters within a reasonable time.

It surprised him that Peter had not called yet. He stepped out of the elevator. He walked straight to Peter's office.

His handler held up his anklet without looking at him.

"Forget something?"

Neal grinned. Peter trusted him enough to not cause a stir.

"Made it all the way home before I realized it was gone."

"Just slipped your mind?" his handler asked with a sting to it. Neal blinked, not sure about Peter's mood.

"I came back," Neal pointed out.

"What did Alex have to say?" Peter asked. Neal stared. What? "You had a long brown hair on your jacket. How many brunettes you meet before work?" Peter, so observant. "Don't answer that," the agent added, and Neal grinned.

Peter leaned back in his chair, watching him.

"All your brunettes seem to be connected to that music box. You and Alex are planning to steal it, aren't you?"

Neal found his fingers fiddling with a rubber-band ball on his handler's desk. He put his hands in his pockets.

"She's just an old friend."

"She's a fence, Neal." He closed the files he had been working on and rose. "She either knows how to find things or sell them. People like that don't trust the FBI." He dumped the files on the windowsill and faced Neal, placing his hands in his pockets too. "That's why you walked away without your anklet."

Neal fought to keep his face straight.

"That's a fascinating theory."

Peter snorted.

"I'm willing to look past your little trip off the reservation because you did well today."

"Thank you—"

"Don't." He raised his hand. "Remember how it felt when you saw that girl in her father's arms. Moments like that are rare. But if you try to steal the music box, I _will_ catch you."

Neal blinked.

"Is that a threat?"

Peter shook his head.

"Just the way it is." He passed Neal, took his coat and left the office. In the door, he turned. "You know, you can either go back to wearing an orange jumpsuit and pining for the girl that got away or you can stay here and do something good with your life. Your choice."

Neal watched Peter leave and felt the victorious feeling he had had when he arrived leave him. Not only had Peter figured out what he was doing, but it also felt like he was disappointed. He knew Peter would cuff him and put him back if he had to, but Neal had never considered what his handler would feel about it. If anything, he had thought Peter enjoyed chasing him and figure out what he was up to. Now he realized that it would be no moment of victory for his friend to catch him. Not any longer.

He saw the anklet left on the desk. The idea of just leave crossed his mind. To end this bizarre and awkward friendship once and for all. The problem was that it was a friendship he cared about. Even if Peter had power over him, Peter was someone who cared, someone who was his friend. And even some part of him hated to have a relationship that limited him and prevented him from doing what he wanted, he knew he did not want to fail Peter.

The anklet felt heavier in his hand than it did on his ankle. He put his foot on a chair and tried to figure out how to put it on right. So many times it had been put on, he had never taken a closer look at it. Not that he did not want to, but because he never got the chance.

Jones stood in the door with one of his relaxed smiles.

"Need some help?"

Neal felt sheepish.

"Yeah, I suppose. Don't want to go back to prison because I put it on upside-down."

Jones took it and ten seconds later it was around his ankle.

"Okay?" the agent asked, though he just checked that it was not too tight. Neal nodded and took his foot down.

"You don't feel like taking a beer on the way home, do you?" he asked.

Jones grinned.

"A putting-on-anklet beer?"

"I was more thinking of a saving-my-life beer."

"Sure thing."


	16. Turquoise meeting

**Turquoise meeting**

Peter sat with Lauren, Jones, and Hughes in the conference room. He had called for Neal twice, and both times he had answered from his desk that he would be with them in just a minute. Jones sent a guy to buy them some decent coffee, and then they got to work.

Hughes got a phone call, the coffee arrived, and then the kid walked in all smiles.

"Ah, you went out for coffee. Nice."

He grabbed for the fourth mug but Lauren pulled it away from him.

"Oh, you took forever," she said with a grin. "So you miss out."

"Whose is that?"

"Hughes," Jones said.

"Well, you'll be glad I took my time," he said, sending Peter a glare, "because I solved our embezzlement scam." He dumped a thick founder on the table. "It's a lapping scheme."

Peter grabbed it. So that was what the kid had been doing by the desk—solving what they were supposed to settle in that very room. Four agents outsmarted by a con-man. Again.

"A lapping scheme?" Lauren asked.

"It's a way to siphon money," he told her.

"I'll show you," Neal said and grabbed the senior agent's mug. "Let's say I want a sip of Hughes' latte. Just a sip."

Peter stared baffled as the kid did just that.

"Mm. Oh, that's delicious," Neal said. "But now I have a problem."

"Hughes is gonna toss your butt back into prison for drinking his coffee," Jones smiled.

"Right," Neal agreed. "So I take a little bit of yours. Pour a little bit into here," the kid said and grabbed Jones' mug and poured a little of it into Hughes' mug, making it almost full again. "But now you're gonna kick my butt," he told Jones, who nodded.

So he grabbed Laureen's mug.

"Hey!"

"It's a lapping scheme." He poured a little into Jones' coffee and Hughes'. "I keep going as long as I can. In the end, I got a full cup. No one is the wiser."

Then Neal went for Peter's mug, but Peter snatched it out of reach.

"Until I catch you." He sipped his untouched coffee with a smile. "That's good work, though. Very good work."

Neal seemed pleased by the praise. Then the kid's phone pinged and he looked at the message.

"June is throwing a champagne brunch," he told Peter. "I totally forgot. Do you mind if I cut out early?"

"What kind of monster would I be to keep Neal Caffrey from a champagne brunch?"

Neal grinned.

"See you, guys."

And he was gone.

The kid did deserve to go early. He had solved a complicated crime. That did not mean the Peter trusted the kid to do honest deeds on his free time. It had been days since he had confronted Neal with his 'theory' that he and Alex was going after the music box. The kid had done his job more than well, just as before. It was hard to tell if the young con-man was up to something or not. It was too much to hope for that Neal had become a law-biding citizen just like that, so Peter kept his eyes open.

He considered calling June and ask, but that would be enough if all he wanted was the formals. June would cover Neal's back. And no matter reason for her doing so, Peter had a gut feeling that the rich lady was good for Neal. He did not want to stir things up, causing more problems than he had to.

It would have to do to track the kid's anklet.

Hughes come back into the office from his phone call.

"Getting anywhere?"

"Neal solved it," Peter told him and pushed the file across the table. Hughes grabbed the coffee and browsed the material.

"This is good work," he said and sipped his coffee. They all stared at him. "What's with the coffee? I ordered a latte." He frowned. "And why are you looking at me?"

"It's a lapping scheme," Peter said.

"The coffee or the case?"

"Both, sir," Jones said.

"Do I want to know more?" the senior agent asked.

"I don't think you do," Peter sighed.

* * *

Neal took pride in never lying to Peter. June did indeed throw a champagne brunch. But not in her home, but a neighbor's. And when he got there, June smiled at him and showed him the stairs to the basement.

He walked down, knowing Alex would be waiting for him. He had however not expected to see a small swimming pool. And in the water was Alex. The main light source in the room came from the pool lights, which made the room turquoise.

"Got your message," Neal said, stopping by the brim of the pool. "I was wondering when you were gonna call."

"Hop in. We'll chat."

"I forgot my suit."

"That's never stopped you before," she smiled and Neal recalled their shared memory. "Relax. I know you're wearing the anklet. What I don't know is if you're wired. Get in."

Neal dropped his overcoat and continued with his jacket and his tie. In the pool, Alex was watching him. She knew he had to do has she said or he would leave empty handed. Somehow he did not mind that much. After all, she did not have a swimsuit either and she seemed to enjoy what she saw when he undressed.

When he was naked he did not linger but dived into the pool. The meeting place may seem romantic but the water was chilly. He swum up behind her.

"Where's the music box, Alex?"

She turned.

"No small talk?"

"Come on. The note said it's in Manhattan."

"I wanna make sure you're not gonna go get it without me," she said.

"I told you. We get it together." He had not actually said that. It was she who insisted.

"It's in the Italian consulate," she revealed without a fuss. "I traced it to the consul general. He tucked the box into his private safe in the consulate last year. He's flying in next month to pick it up."

So there was a deadline. That was why Alex chanced her mind.

"A consulate is a hard target." A challenge. He was already in love with the idea.

"They're having a party next week. It's our chance to get inside."

"I'm always up for a party. What happens when he notices it's gone?"

"Nazis stole the box from the Russians."

"He wasn't supposed to have it in the first place, so he won't talk," Neal realized. That was good. Less risk that he would go to prison. "I've got a question. I know why I'm naked. Why are you?"

She smiled and he knew why.

He also remembered that he had told her that it was over with Kate.

So, no excuse there. Somehow he did not mind that much.

Back in his apartment, he called Mozzie. Half an hour later, the friend walked through his front door.

"This better be good."

"I talked to Alex."

Mozzie studied Neal's face, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"You talked to Alex. And?"

"The music box is at the Italian consulate."

"A consulate?" Mozzie almost yelled. "Oh, great. An international incident. Look, I don't wanna end my days in some underground prison adopting cockroaches as pets."

Neal sighed. He had been so enthusiastic that he had forgotten that his partner in crime, despite his choice of profession, was terrified to go to prison.

"We're not talking about North Korea," he pointed out. "It's the Italians, Moz."

"They do prison just fine. Ask Galileo," he gestured. "Can we do it without Alex?"

"No. She won't tell me which safe it's in."

Mozzie sighed.

"She was always a smart girl."

"Yeah," Neal agreed and walked to the glass wall watching the view.

"All of this is moot anyhow," Moz added. "The suit isn't gonna let you out of your anklet anytime soon."

Neal turned to his friend.

"Not Peter."

"Then who?"

"Fowler. If he wants me to get him the music box he has to cut my anklet. He's manipulated it before."

He was certain that Fowler would agree to it. Why not? He had manipulated the data without leaving any trace. Now, this would fall back on him.

Mozzie rose from his chair.

"Okay. Let's say he goes for it. Let's say you get him the box. Then what?"

Neal frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"You give Fowler the music box and Kate comes running into your arms. You settle down, buy a fixer-upper, and then join the PTA?"

"Yeah." There was nothing more to say about it. He would serve his time, Kate could move in, and when Peter released him they could settle down wherever they wanted.

"Neal…" Mozzie shook his head, "happily ever after isn't for guys like us."

"It is this time. It is."

His friend did not argue anymore. He just sighed.

Yes, he knew both Peter and Mozzie had their objections to his search for Kate. But it was none of their business. He had his dreams and they were his. And he preferred to try and fail, than not try at all.

Mozzie selected a bottle from Neal's wine collection. Then he brought out two glasses, uncorked the wine and poured. He handed one glass to Neal and then raised his own glass.

"Cheers to operation remove anklet, then. May your time without it be long, free and close to dear friends."

Neal raised his glass in approval. He tasted the wine.

"Honestly, Moz! Did you just opened my bottle of Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon?"

"Of course I did! You're gonna get your Kate back. What could be worth celebrating more?"

The irony in Moz's voice was not lost on Neal. But he had a point. He was going to get Kate back.

Neal sat down on the sofa and brought out his phone. Mozzie sat down in the armchair.

Neal used FBI's general number.

"Agent Fowler, extension 221."

"One moment."

A few seconds later he heard another voice.

"Agent Fowler's office."

"Tell him I've got information on the music box he requested."

"Who is this?"

"He knows. He can meet me at midnight tomorrow."

"Where?"

"He'll know that too."

Neal hung up. He glanced at Mozzie.

"Too cryptic?"

He got a slight shrug in return.

"Where are you gonna meet him?"

"I'll find a place."

And he could just hope that Peter would not be as observant as he hoped that Fowler would be.


	17. Tracking data

**Tracking data**

Peter stared at the papers spread out on his dining-room table. He did not like what he saw.

El got home.

"Hey." She saw the paper bag and thermos. "You got a stakeout?"

She bounced down on the nearest chair by the table.

"Yep. Deviled ham."

"You're either gonna torture Neal with it, or you're going alone."

"We'll see," he mumbled. This would be no ordinary stakeout. El picked the mood at once.

"What's going on?"

"Look." He showed her the map that he had been sketching on to find a pattern.

"Neal's tracking data," she said. "What's he up to now?"

"Nothing. Yet." But the kid had moved in an odd way and that meant something. "He spent 45 minutes on the corner of Kenmare and Lafayette last night."

"But honey, He can walk freely for a two-mile radius. Right?"

"Yeah, but it's the way he was walking. Look. He stands at every corner around this parking garage for exactly two minutes. He walks each street leading away from this point and then back again."

Neal knew he was monitored. From the beginning, Peter had noticed that Neal did his best to not have a regular pattern. But after a time Peter had learned the pattern of someone trying to not have a pattern. Never, ever had he walked like this.

"What do you think he was doing?"

"I think he was casing the area. How many people are around, where are there cameras. Looking for an escape in case he needs one."

"What is he planning?"

"I think he's gonna steal the music box."

"On a street corner?" El asked, perplexed.

"Working theory." Peter had no idea where this music box was but it was not in any museum.

"Well, have fun on your stakeout," she said, grabbed her phone and gave him a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you."

She left him for the kitchen and Peter stared at the maps. Parking garage? Exactly two minutes? When he had summarized the situation to El, the picture became clearer. No, Neal was not casing the area. He was pinpointing an area, drawing a treasure map with his tracking data.

But for who? For him? To see if he was watching and paying attention? The kid knew he was. Then who was the target? Jones too had access and the Marshals. And Garrett Fowler. Why would Neal draw this pattern for Fowler?

And did it have something to do with the music box?

Fowler, the music box, and Kate. They were connected somehow, he could not just pinpoint how. Why would Fowler hold Kate? Peter was quite sure that Kate was not held by anyone. But they might still play the same game. And this music box, why would they want it? What tune did it play? What secrets did it hold?

And how could he keep Neal from stealing it?

* * *

Neal waited in the underground parking garage under the corner of Kenmare and Lafayette. It was a few minutes after midnight. He heard a car arrive and stop. Doors slammed shut. Too many doors Neal noted. He had brought company.

"Fowler," he greeted the man when he turned the corner. "Oh. You brought a friend."

He knew the goon. The man had been around the office last time. For a horrible second, Neal thought they would arrest him for something they made up, but the goon just gestured for him to raise his arms.

"I'm not wired," he told Fowler while the goon did his pat-down.

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

Neal sighed.

"He's clean," the goon said and Fowler nodded for him to leave.

"This better be good," said the man from OPR that had framed him once.

"I'm close to the music box."

Fowler looked at him as if he was not sure about how to react to that.

"Supposed to mean something to me?"

"Well, you flew in from D.C., so I think it does," Neal said and got no reply to that. After all, the man had come all this way because of a very cryptic message. "My window to get the box closes in the next week. I need my tracking anklet off to make it happen."

Fowler blinked and looked around as if people could be listening to him.

"You're not suggesting something illegal, are you Caffrey?"

"Of course not. Especially to an upstanding federal agent such as yourself." Neal beamed.

Fowler took a step closer, looking mean.

"You're pushing it."

"I'm gonna push it some more," Neal continued, not smiling at all now. "I give you the box, Kate and I never hear from you again. That's my price."

Fowler backed away and grinned.

"You know, I don't give a damn what you do, Caffrey. Just don't make it my problem."

Neal glared at him as he returned to his car. Time to see how eager his nemesis was to get his hands on the box.

* * *

Peter had been sitting in his car for an hour in the parking garage. Neal, however, was out walking. He saw that on the app on his phone. Criss-crossing back and forth. Finally, the app told him that Neal was going towards the garage and minutes later the kid came out of the elevator. Peter glanced on his watch. It was almost midnight.

Then another car came and Fowler and two goons stepped out. One of them stayed by the car while the other frisked Neal. Then the two of them were alone.

Peter had no chance to hear what they were saying to each other. All he could do was reading body language.

Then Fowler backed away from the kid with a grin.

"You know, I don't give a damn what you do, Caffrey. Just don't make it my problem."

Neal, what the hell are you doing? Peter mumbled to himself.

Fowler left and Neal smiled as he went to the elevator. That smile, Peter thought. The kid had made a deal with Fowler. About what? The music box, sure, but he had demanded something from the man of that Peter was sure.

Neal's tracking data told him the kid was walking home. Peter got the car started and drove home as well. Tomorrow would be Saturday and it was time to make an unannounced visit at his young conman.

When he got there the next morning, he could see the look on June's face that he came at a better moment than he had hoped. She showed him upstairs, well aware that he found his way around, knocked on Neal's door, opened it and, well, warned the kid that whatever he was doing he should hide it.

Peter smiled and waited a few seconds. He had no intention of arresting the kid. All he wanted was for Neal to understand that he would not get away with it. He stepped inside and saw both Alex and Mozzie there.

"Oh, look at this," he grinned. "All the usual suspects in one place. Makes my job much easier." He saw the short guy study a painting on an easel like it was of something of high interest. "What are you kids up to?"

"We were just leaving," Alex said with a wide smile, showing off a lot of perfect teeth.

"Yeah, I bet you were," Peter muttered.

Alex and Mozzie dropped off and he was alone with Neal.

"I know you met with Fowler," he told the kid. "And now Alex and your little buddy are here. You've got your whole crew to steal the box. Tell me I'm wrong."

Neal smiled and shrugged a little.

"You're wrong."

Peter first thought he had finally caught his pet convict lying, but then he realized Neal had just said what he hold him to say: 'Tell me I'm wrong'. Another loophole.

He huffed in frustration.

"I don't understand you. I gave you a shot at a better life."

There was something sad in the kid's eyes.

"It's not the life I want," he said.

No, because it did not include Kate. Kate was the key. It was nothing he could do about Neal's obsession. Now he had proof of it. If he ever thought that he could control Neal he was wrong. He had thought he could do something good to this young criminal, but when it came to it he had placed himself in the prime seat watching the kid running to his own destruction.

"Okay," Peter nodded. "Well, we all have our weakness." He met the eyes of the most brilliant man he ever met. Neal avoided his look. "Kate's yours."

That was the word to catch his attention alright. The kid knew that he knew about his plans. Yet, he could bet a fortune that Neal was about to steal the box anyway. Peter felt like a cold hand gripping his heart. The time when he would have to cuff him and bring him back to prison was arriving on an express train, and then there was nothing he could do to keep their partnership.

"Do the right thing, Neal," he begged.

He walked to leave but with his hand on the doorknob, he had one more thing to say to Neal.

"You're fooling yourself if you think Kate's on your side."

* * *

Alex and Mozzie both arrived early the next morning. Time was short and they needed to make plans. Neal found that Mozzie was still not comfortable with the idea of robbing a consulate. He backed away from the drawings of the floor plans, taking it in.

"This is the Italian consulate. It's not a bank or a museum. It's a little piece of a foreign country! If we had a tank, maybe. Or an air force."

"Well, we don't have an air force," Neal ended that line of thought and caught Alex smiling. "The party will get us past the wall of security into the main ballroom." He pointed at the floor plan and chanced drawing. "Only one way into the inner sanctum. It's through this security door. This door is our biggest obstacle."

"Uh, yeah. There's no keypads, no biometrics, no lock," Mozzie said as if this would stop them. "The only way is to get buzzed through by a guard stationed in the security room."

He exchanged a smile with Alex.

"Let me worry about that," he told Moz.

"Grand," his friend muttered.

"Once I'm through, there's a long hallway monitored by a closed-circuit camera. Down the hallway, I can get into the vault room." He pointed at the drawing. "Which safe is it exactly?" he asked Alex.

"I'll let you know."

"When I find the safe, all I have to do is crack it." He had to know what he was facing and Alex knew that.

"It's high security and torch resistant," she told him.

"Uh, you'll need heavy metal to get through the fire-resistant plate," Mozzie informed them behind him.

"Details," Neal sighed. "One thing at a time, Moz. Let's start with party invites."

"I'm looking for a man without a plus-one," Alex said. "I'm leaning towards this gentleman, Ignatius Barton."

"Why him?"

"He's a duke."

"Wouldn't someone less conspicuous do?"

"I always wanted to dance with a duke."

"All right," Neal continued to Mozzie. "You submit your résumé yet?"

"The catering company received it this morning. As the proprietor of the Greatest Cake bakery, I fully expect a glowing reference."

"Of course." It had been a brilliant move to buy that bakery and keep it after it played out its initial use. Not only this, but it also provided him with a small income that could explain some issues with his finances, not managed with the FBI's minimal payment.

"What's your in?" Alex asked.

"I'm planning to make a very generous donation to the people of Italy."

There was a knock on the door and June opened.

"Neal, uh… company is on the way."

"Thank you."

Behind him, Mozzie placed something in front of the floor plan drawings on the aisle. Seconds later Peter marched into the room, looking around.

"Oh, look at this," his handler grinned. "All the usual suspects in one place. Makes my job much easier. What are you kids up to?"

"We were just leaving," Alex said.

"Yeah, I bet you were."

Without a word Alex and Mozzie left and closed the door behind them. He watched Peter. Something made him come this morning and all Neal could think of was his strange tracking data.

"I know you met with Fowler," Peter said. So he had been there, figured out the clue. "And now Alex and your little buddy are here. You've got your whole crew to steal the box. Tell me I'm wrong."

Neal smiled and shrugged a little. That request was an open target.

"You're wrong."

Peter did not seem angry. It was more of frustration that shone through.

"I don't understand you. I gave you a shot at a better life!"

Yes, he had. And he loved Peter for it. But it had a vital part missing. And he, he was a criminal. No matter Peter's goodness, he could not change that.

"It's not the life I want."

Peter, as the respectful person he has, took this in and nodded.

"Okay. Well, we all have our weakness." Neal did not think of himself as weak and was about to protest when Peter added: "Kate's yours."

Neal knew Peter was right. If it had not been for Kate he would not try this. At least not now when Peter had figured out what he was up to.

"Do the right thing, Neal," Peter said. No, he begged, Neal realized. His friend and handler did not want to put him back in prison. Peter walked to the door and Neal heard him put his hand on the doorknob. But the door did not open.

"You're fooling yourself if you think Kate's on your side."

Neal turned and met his eyes. It was something desperate in Peter's look. His handler thought he would do a break-in and get caught for nothing. Peter would never understand. He had the woman he loved, they had a life together. Neal wanted that too.

Peter gave him a glare and left, closing the door behind him.

Neal sighed. His only hope was to not get caught.


	18. Lights Out

**Lights out**

Neal loved working with clay. It was a material that shaped to his will, just as paint, but in three dimensions. He studied the photos of the original statue that he now did his best to make a copy of: Fancelli's statue of Vulcano. The original had its known position in the gardens of Palaco Pitti, where the Grand Duke of Tuscany lived.

He could never claim it to be the original, made in stone no less, but most artist working in stone make one statue in clay first. This to test the concept, see if it worked, before doing it in the unforgiving and costly material as marble. These clay versions were usually destroyed. Those which survived were attractive on the market.

He had of course picked that particular statue because it served his purpose. As he worked with the figure he became to admire Fancelli. Vulcano was standing on one knee with a sledge hammer resting in one hand, hanging as if it weighted nothing. The pose was material-efficient, and, gee, Fancelli knew who to do muscles.

When he was working on Vulcano's fingers Alex entered.

She stopped in the doorway and stared with a sly smile. At first Neal thought it was the statue, but then he remembered that he worked just in a pair of pants.

"Your day went well?" he asked.

Alex grinned and closed the door behind her.

"You'd be amazed the kinds of places a duke gets you access to."

"Thought you were just using him for a plus-one."

"No harm in having fun while I'm at it."

They shared a smile. She approached.

"Wow, your gift to the Italians?"

"It's Fancelli's study, Statua di Vulcano."

She watched the photos and his work.

"This is beautiful," she said with an awe that pleased him more than he let her know. "Looks like the real thing."

"Don't let it fool you," he grinned.

"I won't." She watched him. "There's something we've been avoiding. It's time to talk about it."

He put his tools away.

"All right. Look, I know you and I have a complicated relationship—"

"I mean this," she indicated his anklet with her foot. "If you can't get it off, then none of this will matter. Everything we're doing—"

"It'll happen," he assured her. "Get you a glass of wine?"

"Okay."

He washed his hands and put on a T-shirt.

"Maybe I have my glass of wine with your guy here instead," Alex complained.

"This is business, remember?"

He pulled out a bottle from the rack. An Italian wine, naturally. He poured in two glasses and handed one to her. They sat down on the sofa together.

"So how are you going to get your anklet off?"

"Trust me."

"I want to know."

"Alright, I have a contact, Garrett Fowler, who will deactivate it."

"Fowler?" Alex gave him a skeptical look. "I think I've heard his name before. He sat you up, right?"

"Right."

"And you trust that he'll deactivate it? Why?"

"For the same reason he set me up."

"Money," Alex said with a smile, making her own conclusions.

Neal enjoyed his wine and watched his statue.

"You remember the last time we were this close to getting the box?" Alex asked.

"Copenhagen," Neal answered at once. "Sneaking into the Amalienborg Palace, hanging out with the royal family."

"I have a scar from the jump off the gatehouse," Alex pointed at her arm and the face became serious.

There were more to this than a scar. He had not been there when she got the wound. When he heard about it he was already on his way back to the States.

"Healed nicely."

"You didn't visit me in the hospital."

"You didn't visit me in prison."

"Burned that bridge in Copenhagen."

"You cut me out—"

"We cut each other out," Alex pointed out, ending the discussion about blame. "That's…"

"Who we are," Neal finished. That was why he kept loving Kate and never could trust Alex.

They sat in silence.

"It's not a game this time," Neal told her. Last time it had been for fun, for the challenge.

"Come on," Alex leaned closer. "I know you're gonna take the box. I know this is about Kate."

She was right and he fought the idea of admitting it. Alex was not one who… He stared.

"Alex, look…"

"Don't lie to me," Alex complained. "It's humiliating for both of us."

"No. No, look," he pointed at the anklet on his outstretched leg. "This light's never been off before."

"Fowler came through?"

"I think we're in play."

* * *

Peter had had lunch with Jones and they were leaving towards the car.

"I think my phone is tapped, by they way," Jones said when they were out of the restaurant.

"Think your phone is being tapped?"

"Been on the other side enough to recognize clicks."

"That's not good. Lauren?"

"Same. Now Fowler's back. You think there's a connection?"

Peter was prepared to make a bet on it.

They got inside the car. They barely had time to put their seatbelt on before the phone rang. It was El and Peter took in on speakerphone.

"Hey, El. What's up?"

"Honey, I need you."

Peter frowned. That was not like her.

"What's the matter?"

"They're tearing apart my office."

"Who?"

"The FBI. Please. Please don't touch that."

"El, did—" But the line was cut. He looked at Jones. "She say FBI?"

"Yeah," he confirmed.

Peter switched on the GPS and asked for the fastest route. Once there both he and Jones walked into El's nice little store.

"Honey. What's going—?" He did not need to ask. They searched the place. "Who's in charge here?"

"Stay away from my suspect, Burke." Peter turned. Fowler. Of course it was Fowler.

"Your suspect?" Peter marched up to him. "You are way out of bounds here, Fowler."

"Fowler?" El asked. "Wait. You're the man who violated our home?"

His wife gestured a lot when she got angry and now was not the best time.

"Honey, let me talk to him, alright" he tried.

"You almost ruined my husband's career!" she yelled.

"Better calm your wife down," Fowler smirked at him.

What ever Peter tried to say was drowned by an extremely upset Elizabeth Burke.

"I will not calm down!" El objected and placed a hand on the man's chest.

"That's assaulting an agent," the man noted. Peter sighed. If they had a made-up reason for a warrant they now had a valid reason for an arrest.

"You have gotta be kidding me!"

This was getting out of hand. El yelled at Fowler, Fowler smirked and provoked, and Peter felt his patience was running to an end.

"You're under arrest," Fowler said, grinning, and pushed El towards one of his goons.

Then Peter hit Fowler square on the jaw.

It had been more than one if not Jones had been there and pulled him away.

He glared at Fowler who got to his feet and with a smirk spat a little blood. Peter knew he had played him right into his hands. Still it felt good to smack that man in the face. He just wished he could do it again.

"You just got yourself a suspension, Agent Burke." Peter knew, and he was not going to argue. "Jones, right? Take his gun and badge."

"You got your own guys for that. Sir."

"Take his gun and badge," Fowler repeated and without a hint of a smile.

"It's all right, Jones," he assured his best agent and gave Jones his gun and badge. "It was worth it."

But there was a reason Fowler was so pleased. There was a reason why he had provoked all this. And he was pretty sure it had something to do with Neal and that music box. He must have been considered to be a hinder for Neal to do what Fowler wanted him to do. He pretty much wanted to punch Neal in the face too.

But the troubles was not over.

"Honey, Fowler has placed you under arrest, so you follow with them, and don't make a scene, that is just what they want. I'll bail you out as soon as I can, alright."

El was more angry than scared. She nodded.

He left with Jones. He was not sure if he could stand to see his wife cuffed and see the smirk on Fowler's face once more.

"What do we do now?" Jones asked.

"Call Caffrey. Tell him he's got two weeks of house arrest."

"Think he's something to do with this?" Jones asked, surprised.

"Not directly, no. Tell him about what happened."

"Don't we have to have a valid reason for placing him in house arrest?"

"His handler is under suspension," Peter said. "It's reason enough." It was. He remembered the contract. If Neal's handler - he - for any reason was unable to function as his handler, Neal could be placed in house arrest until the situation was solved. It was simply a safety net for both parts, to stay out of prison if Peter got ill, or suspended in this case.

"Are you okay, Peter?" Jones asked, concerned.

"No. No, I'm not okay." He looked the agent in the eye. "But do your job, Jones. This has nothing to do with you, and keep it that way." Jones nodded. "Now I gotta go and bail my wife out."

Elizabeth did not say a word on the way home. Not a single word. When Peter parked the car she flung the door open and rushed out. He hurried to catch up with her has the smashed her feet down all the way up the stairs to their front door. She marched inside.

"Honey, come on," Peter tried. "El. El, can we just—?" Not Peter stopped himself. No questions. "Let's talk about this."

"Is there really anything to talk about?" She threw her keys on their usual spot. "I'm out on bail and you're out of a job."

"No. It's just a two-week suspension." It was not good, but it was no big deal. It could have been worse. He hung away his overcoat.

"I was arrested!"

"I know."

"Handcuffed in front of my clients! I'm lucky if I have a business in two weeks. And now I have to call and explain why $2000 worth of caviar is the property of the U.S. government."

"All right. All right," he grabbed her shoulders, "Come here. Come here. Come on. Come here," he mumbled and pulled her into a big hug. She hugged him back. "I love you, El." He took her face in his hands and looked at her. "I am so sorry."

"Well, don't be sorry. Just— Just get him." She sighed and pulled off her coat.

Peter's phone rang. It was Neal.

"What is it?"

"I just heard," the kid said at the other end.

"Don't."

"I didn't know this would happen, Peter. I didn't know he'd go after you."

"I don't want your apology. For the record, you bought yourself two weeks' house arrest."

"Jones told me."

"Try leaving the apartment, you're done for. So good luck planning your little caper." No way the kid would get a chance getting that box now when he put El's business in danger.

There was a knock on the front door.

"Hold on. I'm not done with you," he said into the phone and walked to the door.

He opened it and stared at Neal who took a step inside.

"About that house arrest thing…"

Peter ended the call.

* * *

Neal's phone rang and he saw it was Jones.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Caffrey, Peter asked me to tell you that you've got yourself two weeks of house arrest."

"What?!" Neal halted in his tracks on the sidewalk. He remembered there had to be a valid reason for it. "Why?"

"Peter is on suspension for two weeks for hitting Fowler on the jaw."

"What? Peter?"

"Yeah. Fowler has just arrested Elizabeth for illegal import and abusing a federal agent."

Neal felt the world sway for a moment. Fowler had been more eager to get the music box than Neal had ever imagined.

"I see," he mumbled.

"So, you're under house arrest until Peter's back, you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand."

"Just stay foot where you are, you hear? Don't leave. Peter has enough on his hands as it is."

Neal looked around on the street. He was far away from his home for any mistakes in geography.

"I get it," he assured Jones. "Have I ever caused you any trouble?"

"Very funny, Caffrey," Jones replied and hung up.

Neal continued to walk but in another direction. He dialed Peter's number.

"What is it?" Peter answered.

"I just heard."

"Don't!"

But Neal had to tell.

"I didn't know this would happen, Peter. I didn't know he'd go after you."

"I don't want your apology," his friend hissed back. "For the record, you bought yourself two weeks' house arrest."

"Jones told me."

"Try leaving the apartment, you're done for. So good luck planning your little caper." So Peter had given him house arrest for that reason. No surprise there. He had not had house arrest when Peter and El went on vacation.

He hurried up the stairs to the front door of the Burke's and knocked.

"Hold on. I'm not done with you," he heard Peter in the other end. Then the door opened and he stepped inside.

"About that house arrest thing…"

Peter's mouth was like a raisin. He ended the call.

Elizabeth marched out from the kitchen into the living-room but not to greet him. Neal saw she as on the phone, upset.

"No, I can assure it was a mistake. I'm not a smuggler." As she listened she seemed to fight tears from coming.

Neal wanted to help her, set everything right, but did not know how.

Peter nodded for him to follow and they walked out to the back of the house. Peter grabbed his coat on his way. They sat down in two garden chairs.

"I never thought he'd come after Elizabeth," Neal said. "You have to believe me.

"I don't care what you thought!" Peter hissed back. "You're helping him destroy everything I've worked for. Everything my wife has worked for."

Neal nodded. It was true.

"He took you out so you couldn't stop me." It was almost admitting to planning a crime but nothing was worth this pain he had caused them. If Peter put him back in prison for this, then so be it. He had to help Peter stop Fowler.

"I know," Peter said. "And I walked right into it."

"Like you said, we all have our weaknesses. He's got mine. He found yours." Neal nodded to Elizabeth walking back and forth on the phone inside. "When this is over, we take him down for good."

Peter glanced at him, not objecting but not agreeing either. Was he not sure he could trust his consultant? Neal sighed and put his left foot on the seat of the chair.

"Look at this." He turned the anklet towards Peter.

"Neal, your light is off."

"Yeah. But according to Jones, the monitoring station says I'm at home."

"Why isn't it transmitting?" Peter asked and Neal just gave him a look. "Fowler. He shut you down so you could steal the box. How did he do that?"

"I don't know."

"I'm almost impressed."

"You're not gonna arrest me?"

"I can't," Peter answered, sounding frustrated. "I don't have a badge."

If that was the only reason, his handler would have called Jones. Peter got his feet walked across the little patio, glanced at his wife.

"All right. Let's say you pull off this heist. You really think he's gonna let you and Kate go?"

"I need to know if she's…" Neal paused. He had seen the look on Peter's face before. And that sigh of his… "You'd do the same for Elizabeth."

Peter looked through the window at her.

"Yeah. After today, I'm not gonna argue that." He looked at Neal. "I'm gonna beat him."

Neal felt his pulse rise as it did at every exciting challenge. And he liked this cunning side of Peter.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Fowler took my badge. I'm gonna take his. He's aiding you in illegal activity."

Neal smiled and shrugged, innocent as ever.

"I'm just doing my part." Then he grew serious again. "They'll be watching you and everyone you work with."

"I know. I'll need help from somebody with FBI access, who Fowler can't link to me. Somebody I can trust."

"You got someone in mind?"

Peter grinned and nodded.

"Who?"

"No. No, the only other person who will know about this is the person whom I hope will help me."

Sounded fair enough.

"Alright, how about me?"

"If I catch you with that box, you're going to prison, you got that? I'm not giving you a slack to catch Fowler."

"It would be no fun if you did," Neal grinned back.

"This is not a game, Neal."

"It is. But with high stakes."

They watched Elizabeth cry on the sofa inside.

"Too high for comfort," Peter muttered.

"Agree to that." And he was not thinking of prison. He promised himself to make it up to Elizabeth somehow.

"Now get out of here. I have to take care of my wife."


	19. Diana

**Diana**

Peter waited on a park bench in an open area where no one could be watching without being seen. He heard steps of high heals behind him and turned. He was met by Diana's smile. She sat down beside him.

"Thanks for coming."

"You knew I would, boss," she laughed.

"You don't have to call me that anymore," he said. Diana was the smartest probie he ever had. "How's, uh…"

"Christy?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, she's good."

"Good. Good, good. Good," he found himself repeating. He did not know how to get to the reason she was there. "You guys like D.C.?"

"Different city, same paperwork. I should've stuck around," she said. "Probably more interesting with Caffrey around."

"Too interesting."

Diana picked it up at once.

"He's the reason I'm here?"

Peter nodded. He sighed and let his eyes sweep the area before he continued.

"Diana, what I'm about to ask you to do is a lot more than paperwork. I need you to look into an OPR agent. Agent Garrett Fowler. Somehow he's manipulating Neal's anklet."

"Why?"

"Neal has access to something he wants."

"Sounds like he hasn't changed."

"No. Same old Neal." At least on the aspect that he did any stunt needed to get Kate back, Peter thought. When it came to other things… well, maybe their had been a change.

"He still wearing the hat?" Diana asked.

"Oh, please."

She laughed. Then she got serious.

"Boss, if I shall do this, I want to know what's going on."

Peter could not agree more.

"There is this music box that belonged to Catherine the Great. I'm not sure if Fowler is controlling Kate or the other way around. Or if there is a third person involved as well. But someone wants this box and thought that Neal had it."

Diana nodded.

"Yeah, it was one of the rumors we heard, remember?"

No, Peter did not remember, but Neal Caffrey's name had been on many suspected crimes and they paid attention to the ones they at least knew were crimes by someone, and not just a rumored crime no one even reported.

"Well, in this case, he did not steal it and I don't think he had any idea where it was. But then one Alex Hunter walked into his life and now I think he and Alex are going to steal it. With the help of Fowler who turned his tracker off. Officially, Neal is in house arrest, and is in his home."

"And you know he is not?"

"We had a talk yesterday, in my house, after Fowler arrested my wife and I punched the scumbag on the jaw." Peter saw Diana's look. "Yes, I'm on suspension. And I know for sure that Neal would never do anything to deliberately harm Elizabeth. Fowler tried to get rid of me, to help Neal succeed."

"Why would Neal try when he knows you're on to what he is doing?"

"Because he thinks he'll get Kate back."

"Even if it means he'll go back to prison."

"Yeah," Peter nodded with a sigh. "Just as I would fight for El. And you for Christy."

"We might not have reached that stage yet," Diana grinned. "But I'll hope we will."

"Will you do this?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"You're always welcome back, you know that."

"Yeah, I know. I'll get started right away and see what I can find on this guy. See you."

* * *

This was the night. The night when he would get his hands on the music box, at last. Neal watched the sky over Manhattan and felt an excitement he had not felt in a long time.

"How did it go?" Mozzie asked.

"Good."

"The consulate accepted your gift?"

"I spoke to Mr. Tomassi, the consulate manager. Fancelli's study of Vulcan is now in the inner sanctum."

He had even been invited to follow it there, so he had walked the route he would take tonight. Mr. Tomassi was a fan of Fancelli and had almost been too easy to convince to accept the donation. He had a feeling that the man did not like or trust him, but a work by his favorite artist was a too grand temptation.

"How is the security?"

"Like we expected. The outer door opens with a key card."

"And what about the inner door? Can we get through?"

That one would be tougher but nothing was impossible. And it was enough if he got through. Then he could let the others in.

"I'll figure out a way," he assured Mozzie.

"He invited you to the party?"

"He did." Mr. Tomassi had felt obliged to do so. He did not want to risk an upset and overlooked donor.

"Alex?"

"She's the duke's plus-one. You?"

"You're looking at the new assistant server trainee. If I play my cards right, I get dental in three months."

Neal smiled. He was sure Mozzie knew exactly how to play those cards.

"All right. Then we're ready. Let's cut it off." He put his left foot on a chair. "Wanna do the honors?"

Mozzie grabbed the sturdy pair of scissors with a grin.

"I feel like I should make a toast or something," he said and considered, while they picked up their glasses. "' We feel free when we escape even if it be but from the frying pan into the fire.' Eric Hoffer."

Neal held out the band and Mozzie cut it. Holding the clunky thing in his hand made Neal terrified for a moment. What if he had it all wrong? What if he was going back to prison just for this?

"No sirens," Mozzie said.

Neal raised his glass.

"Into the fire."

Their glasses met and then they drank.

* * *

The same afternoon Diana knocked on Peter's front door. He let her and he sat down by the dining-room table. Diana hung her jacket over the back of a chair. She produced two files from her back, opened them and placed them on the table.

"This is everything I could find on Garrett Fowler," she said and sat down opposite him. "Not much there. Put in a request to go after his files. I'm waiting on the judge."

"I don't need much. He's aiding a premeditated robbery," Peter said, browsing the files without any hope. "The anklet is the key."

"You sure it's him?"

"Fowler's doctored Caffrey's information in the past. He's doing it now. I need to know how."

"Well, marshals monitor the anklet."

"Department of Justice supersedes their authority. Fowler could override them and get access. Or he's altering the data remotely."

"You can't do that from just any Internet connection."

"You'd need a secure line," Peter agreed. "He's doing it from OPR offices. They have one in New York. That's where I need to go."

"Nobody gets in without fede—"

"Federal clearance and an appointment," Peter interrupted her. "They wouldn't let me within a hundred yards."

"But they'd let me," Diana smiled.

Peter watched her. She was right, but it was risky.

"Fowler finds out and it's career suicide," he warned her.

"I came here to help you," she replied, certain of what to do.

"Thank you."

Diana rose and got her things together, putting her jacket on.

"This music box," she said, "what happens if he gets it?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "But we need to make sure he doesn't."

Diana nodded in agreement and left.

Peter remained by the table and the Fowler's files. He had no idea where Neal was and what he was doing. Should he tell Jones what was going on and bring Neal in? If they did, what would Fowler do? No, the kid knew the risks. They needed to sneak up behind Fowler to catch him or he would just cause more damage on the way.

But what interest could Fowler have in that music box? That question nagged Peter. There was nothing every so innocent in his files that said that he even had the slightest knowledge of what it could be. He had never had any interest in antiquities, history, or even music. The guy was told to have a minor, insignificant stamp collection. No, there must be someone else behind this. Was it Kate? But why then did she not contact Neal directly? She could probably walk directly into his apartment and ask him to steal it and he would.

If Fowler had known that Peter would become a threat to the operation, it still would cost him money and time to arrange the trap. Even he could not do things without someone watching and signing the papers. So if he had people spying, it might not even be OPR-guys and they cost money too. It was all too big for a guy like Garrett Fowler. And Kate, would she trust an agent from OPR?


	20. Party

**Party**

Neal was dressed in his finest suit and an Italian tie. He passed the security guards on his way into the Italian consulate. He carried nothing of interest to them and he walked up the grand staircase to the upper floors where the party was held. It was sure a sublime building they had. He looked around and saw the man he was searching for.

"Signor Tomassi!"

The man looked in his direction and seemed to force a smile to his face.

"Ah. Mr. Dunvarry."

They met each other in a handshake.

"Please, call me George," Neal said.

"George," the other returned. "Thank you again for your remarkable donation."

"Oh, well, I know how important Fancelli's work is to Italian sculpture. I couldn't just let it sit on my family's attic collecting dust."

One of the reasons Mr. Tomassi did not seem to like the charming and generous George Dunvarry: A rich brat who did not applicate Italian sculpture enough but rather dumped the statue with them than giving up something of value. Just as Neal wanted it.

"No," Mr. Tomassi replied, "of course not. The consul general has requested the piece be placed in perfect view of his office. Fancelli is his favorite artist."

"Really? I had no idea," Neal lied. "Could I see it?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid that won't be possible. But rest assured, it's very safe," he told Mr. Dunvarry who now looked a bit sad. Now Neal beamed instead and Mr. Tomassi guided him towards the halls for the party. "Please enjoy your evening."

Neal walked into a room with a big chandelier, ornamented ceiling, and gigantic vases with over-sized flowers.

"Ketel One on the rocks, please," he said to the bartender.

"Of course."

He glanced around in the room and saw Mozzie. They exchanged a quick eye before his eyes wandered further. Alex and her duke were just met in the door by someone who wanted to greet the nobility. His eyes met Alex's.

He got his drink. Time to get things moving. Mozzie entered with a tray with two filled glasses. Tomassi stood by the door, near Alex. He pattered on his right jacket pocket and Alex caught the signal.

Mozzie bumped into Tomassi, just enough to distract him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir," he said and Alex sneaked passed them. He adjusted the glasses on the tray. "Excuse me."

Alex walked up to him by the bar.

"Nice lift." He kissed her hand and Signor Tomassi's key card slipped into his own hand.

"This will get you through the first door," she mumbled. "You cleaned up nice."

"Not so bad yourself."

Alex took two glasses of champagne.

"Good luck, Caffrey," she whispered as she moved to return to her duke.

"Alex?" he said and she turned back to him. "Which safe is it?"

"Triple-walled, case-hardened steel 1943 McKenzie."

"Couldn't make this easy, could they?"

"Where's the fun in that?" she flirted back at him.

"I'll see you on the inside."

He watched her leave and return to her young duke and handed him his glass.

Well, it was time for him to get into the spotlight. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and walked to the middle of the room.

"Excuse me," he said and raised the glass. "Scusa. Perdon." He saw he had their attention. "I'd like to make a toast to our gracious hosts." Most of the people in the room agreed and raised their glasses. "And all of you, because this is a very special night. Oh, it's special to me, anyway. You probably have no idea who I am. So I'm going to tell you. I'm an internationally renowned art thief." To that they all laughed. Except Signor Tomassi. "And tonight, I'm here to rob you. Cheers."

This did not cause any laughter. More an embarrassed giggle. People began to look ignore the clown. Except for two security guards who walked in and grabbed Neal.

"Signore, signori," Tomassi addressed the assembled. "It seems one of our guests has had too much to drink. Please continue to enjoy your evening."

Neal had a hard time not smiling when he was led exactly where he wanted them to take him. Past the barred door that only could be opened from the control room.

"Buzz us through," Tomassi barked.

They walked down the stairs and passed a glass door into a hall with three doors on each side. Behind the second to the left was his statue and the room with the safe.

Neal wondered if it would be possible to get his hands on the security footage later to see what trick Alex used up at the party.

He was pushed into a small, empty kitchen on the right side of the hall.

"Tell me why you're really here," Mr. Tomassi hissed.

"Oh, I told you. I'm here to rob you."

"I see."

He made a nod at one of the security guards who placed a firm fist in Neal's guts and he doubled.

"Now I'm definitely not gonna tell you."

Alex better hurry up to start her smoke show, he thought and remained to lean over, coughing, to not encourage them to beat him more.

Then the fire alarm when off.

"Give me your walkie," Tomassi said to one of the guards "Lock him in here. Come with me."

They left and the door was locked. Neal was happy it was not a real fire. Even in a prison, you were let out of a burning building.

He listened by the door and gave them ten seconds to leave and pass the glass door and get out of sight. Then he used his key card and slipped out of the room, and hid from the camera in the generous door frame.

He hoped Mozzie made it passed the barred door behind Tomassi leaving.

"Neal?" he heard Moz.

"Where are you?"

"The other side of the glass." Neal took a quick peek and saw him. "Give a few seconds." Then Neal heard "Go" and he rushed across the open space to the other side and the second door. He slipped the key card and the door opened. He was inside.

And there was the safe. As high as to his shoulder, double doors, dark green.

He turned and pulled the sheet of his statue.

"Some of my best work," he mumbled as he saw it. He wished he at least could take a photo of it. He grabbed Vulcan's hammer and yanked it lose. Then he smashed it into it's back and revealed the secret compartment with the tools he would need to open the safe. He grabbed the bag and lifted it down to the floor, unzipped it and brought out a drill. He pushed the button and it hummed to life. He pressed the tip at the door and got started.

"Neal, hurry up," he barely heard Mozzie outside. "My arm is killing me from holding that drink tray."

Well, it took the time it took. Not much he could do about it.

He felt the drill pass through the last layer and he pulled it out. Instead, he inserted a minicam on a cable with light and found the locking mechanism. He turned the nob on the outside and watched the mechanics move. The first time he had done this he had not been prepared and it had taken him too long to find out how the disks moved and what position they should have to be able to unlock.

Now he was no rookie and it took him less than a minute to clear the lock. He grabbed the handles, took a deep breath, and opened the doors. And there it was. The amber music box.

He grabbed it and held it.

It was for real.

Neal could not stop grinning.

But he had focus enough to pack it in the bag, grab Vulcan's hammer, and leave.

When he came out in the hall he saw Mozzie standing with a camera on a stick, providing the security camera with a still image of the hall.

"Take your time, why don't you?" his friend remarked. "You're losing your touch."

"Let me in," he heard Alex's voice. She was at the other end of the hall, behind a door made out of a metal net of flowers. To Mozzie's annoyance, he opened the door to her first to let her in.

"Everything okay?" he asked. She was not supposed to be there.

"We did it, Neal," she said and gave him a hug.

"Yeah. We're not out of here yet."

"That's very touching, guys!" Mozzie broke in. "But they're coming!" They had realized there was smoke without fire.

Neal jogged across the room to let Mozzie through. By the glass door, he realized that his key card was not there. He turned to Alex who just closed the door again. She had grabbed the bag with the music box and was leaving.

"Alex?"

She dropped the key card through the net. He could either go after her or save Mozzie. He ran to grab the card.

"Alex!"

"Hurry up!" Mozzie yelled. "They're coming!"

Neal picked up Vulcan's hammer, opened the door to Mozzie, closed, and then jammed the door with the hammer. He had wanted to keep it as a souvenir but this use was better.

"Come on, Mozzie."

Mr. Tomassi and a bunch of security people yanked at the glass door and sent them evil glazes.

Neal and Mozzie passed the door at the other end and ran out of sight and to the small side door Alex had just used. It was locked, but also likely blocked on the other side.

"What now?" his friend asked.

The windows on the bottom floor had all bars. But it was an old house. And old houses often had passages for servants. He grabbed Mozzie and pushed him up a narrow staircase. At the top, they found a window. Neal got himself a curtain from the room next door and with that as a rope, they got out of the embassy and out on a sidewalk in New York.

"We split," Mozzie said. "See you."

And he was gone.


	21. The music box

**The music box**

Peter walked up the stairs to Neal's apartment. He knocked but was not surprised when no one came to open. And not because it was late and the kid was asleep. He walked inside the empty apartment and sat down by the kid's dining room table. The music box had been in the Italian consulate of all places. At least that was what he thought. All he could do now was to wait.

Less than thirty minutes later he heard feet in a hurry up the stairs and then Neal made his entry. Out of breath, Peter heard, sitting with his back to the door. The kid had stopped right inside the door. Probably because of his presence.

"There's an APB out for a man of interest in a slick suit," Peter said, still without looking at him. "Apparently he rappelled down the wall of a consulate."

"It'll be fine," Neal said. "They're not gonna prosecute for the theft of an item they weren't supposed to have."

Neal sat down by the table and Peter saw he was sweaty and clothes in disorder. And, he also noted, empty-handed.

"An item you don't seem to have," he said.

"Let's just say Alex had other plans," Neal said without ceremony. "I should've seen it coming."

"Any idea where she went?"

"She didn't stick to the plan. She got out of the consulate a different way. If Alex wants to disappear, she does. Without that box, Fowler's side wins."

Peter was pleased Neal had not ducked but told the true story. At least there was no reason to believe otherwise.

"I need to know," Peter said and leaned across the table towards Neal. "What about us? Are we on the same side here?"

"You said I earned the right to make my own choices," Neal replied, watching him as careful as Peter studied him. "You changing your mind?" Peter shook his head. "Fowler is still out there."

They may have different means, but they both wanted Fowler caught. The kid had not answered a straight 'yes', but it was okay. Neal was not about to run, of that he was sure.

"This isn't over yet," Peter grinned and rose.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've got something in play." And by that, he left.

* * *

Neal stopped when he saw Peter waiting by the table. The man was sitting with his back to him, and though he must have heard him coming he had not moved.

"There's an APB out for a man of interest in a slick suit," Peter said without moving. "Apparently he rappelled down the wall of a consulate."

So Peter was not there to arrest him. And Mozzie had, as usual, passed unnoticed.

"It'll be fine," Neal assured them both. "They're not gonna prosecute for the theft of an item they weren't supposed to have."

He sat down by Peter, tired in every way.

"An item you don't seem to have," Peter noted and Neal could see a relieved smile.

"Let's just say Alex had other plans," Neal said, not bothering to play games. "I should've seen it coming."

"Any idea where she went?"

"She didn't stick to the plan. She got out of the consulate a different way. If Alex wants to disappear, she does." It was more than he had been conned by Alex. "Without that box, Fowler's side wins."

Peter studied him. He leaned closer.

"I need to know, what about us?" his handler and friend asked. "Are we on the same side here?"

Neal stared at Peter. How could he even ask? On the other hand, Neal had just robbed the Italian consulate. That made the question more complicated than he first thought. With that box, he would have had a chance of another life.

"You said I earned the right to make my own choices," Neal replied, meeting Peter's eye. "You changing your mind?" Peter shook his head and Neal was relived. "Fowler is still out there."

There would never be a simple answer to the question if they were on the same side.

Peter seemed to be satisfied with the answer because he grabbed his coat and rose.

"This isn't over yet," he grinned.

"What do you mean by that?" Neal asked. He thought he knew Peter but his friend had a cunning side Neal had not yet figured out.

"I've got something in play." A smile and he was gone.

Neal stared at his closed front door. Whoever Peter had had in mind for helping him get to Fowler he or she probably agreed to do so. But then? What were they doing? Neal felt left out. But he had left Peter out of the music box business too. And it had not been fair. Peter had saved his life and done his best to help him within the boundaries of the law.

But even if he cared for the FBI agent and respected him, Kate was always his first priority. A life without her would never be complete. And she would never agree to the life with imitation and boundaries he had now.

Neal could not sleep. He did not even go to bed. He was haunted by the image of Alex leaving with the music box. And Peter… whatever he had in mind it would not give him Kate back.

"You're going to burn a hole right through my floor if you keep that up," June said. He had not seen her come in. "Whatever is bothering you, believe me, it's gonna work out."

"How do you know that?" He did not mean to sound harsh, but this demanded a little more than a fortune cookie.

June took a step aside and in through the door came Alex. And in her hands she carried the music box. Neal felt his whole life settle into place.

He took June's hand.

"Thank you. For everything."

June had been around long enough. She knew he would leave. Her arms flew around his neck in a big hug.

"Oh, you know I don't believe in goodbye," she said. She let go and took a good look at him. "Neal you are one in a million. And don't you forget it."

She left and closed the door behind her, giving him and Alex privacy.

"I didn't know if I'd see you again," Neal said.

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing. But here," she held out the box to him. "Before I change my mind."

"You don't know what this means to me."

"I think I do," Alex said with a tone of sadness. "I hope Kate is still the same girl you think she is."

Neal sighed.

"I'm getting that a lot lately." He forced his eyes from the fantastic box and looked at Alex. "If you don't trust her, why'd you bring this back?"

"Because I don't want this to be goodbye… in case she's not," she said with an honesty that surprised him. "And plus, I figured I don't need all the heat this is gonna bring. I don't need the same guy who's been after you coming after me."

"You always made smart decisions."

"You should try it sometime."

Neal's eyes followed her as she walked to the door and left. The girl he had hurt deeper than he had known. She still wanted him back. She if someone understood why he hunted Kate, because she too had someone she could not stop hoping for.

He called Fowler, arranged a meeting spot, and left with the box a bag.

He came to the place first. Five minutes later Fowler came by car. It was a place between two storage buildings. They were totally alone.

"Is that it?" Fowler nodded at the bag as if he expected something bigger.

"I want assurances."

Fowler took a folded brown envelope from the inner pocket of his coat and handed it to Neal. With the bag in one hand, he opened the envelope and looked at the content. It was better than he ever imagined.

"Mentor was created for me?"

"Kate and I made a deal," Fowler said. "You both get new identities. We get the box. You disappear. Legally."

Neal held a future with Kate in his hand. This was what Kate wanted. June had been more than right, without him knowing it.

"There you go." He held out the back to Fowler, who took the bag and opened it. "What's so special about that box?"

Fowler shook his head and closed the zipper.

"It's above my pay grade. Kate's waiting for you. Time and place are in that folder." The took a step towards the car. "Have a nice life, Caffrey."

It sounded as if he meant it. Yeah, he would have a nice life. Anklet free and with Kate. He opened the folder again. This afternoon. They would meet this very afternoon.


	22. One goodbye too many

**One goodbye too many**

Neal called Mozzie and they took a walk. He showed him the papers he got from Fowler. If they were not as legal as they seemed, Mozzie would know. His friend read them through and returned them to him.

"Are they legit?"

"You know they are."

They continued to walk. It was a chilly day. Soon he would spend Christmas someplace warmer, with Kate in his arms.

"A Washington-approved disappearing act," Moz mused.

"Well, technically, I work for OPR."

"Yeah, technically," Mozzie agreed. "It's just on paper. With this new identity, you can go anywhere with Kate."

"And it's legal."

"That's genius. No one will be able to find you. Governments, old enemies, old friends…"

Neal paused in his step. Mozzie knew, and it was time to say goodbye.

"Remember that old Chinese curse?" Moz asked.

"'May you live in interesting times.'"

"These certainly are… interesting… times. Remember the second half of that curse?"

"'May you find what you're looking for,'" Neal quoted.

Mozzie was silent. He looked down on his shoes for a moment, then he looked up.

"Gonna say goodbye to the Suit?"

Neal sighed. No, he would not. He knew he should but…

Mozzie raised his hand as if to pat him on the shoulder but lowered it. Neal felt for him. They had never, ever given each other any promises. They had just met over a common interest and shared the loot over the years. It had turned into a friendship that Neal now was about to break for Kate. And leave Mozzie behind.

"Send me a postcard," his friend said and looked down on the ground again.

Neal felt a pang of bad conscience. The feeling was not new. He knew it would pass. It always did. He was a con-man, a criminal. He could not afford to have ties. Mozzie knew that. Still, he did not know what to say. So he walked passed Mozzie and continued down the sidewalk.

Close to the Burke's he stepped into a florist and bought a big bouquet of flowers in a vase. Then he carried it all to Peter's place and unlocked the door with the spare key Peter had moved since Neal last used it. It was just a symbolic act to move the key. Peter knew he could pick the lock if he wanted to.

He placed the flowers on the dining room table. Among the flowers, he placed a note addressed to Elizabeth Burke with instructions inside. At the rim of the vase, he placed the burner phone he had just bought. The instructions said to speed-dial #1.

Then he left and locked the door behind him.

Half-an-hour later the phone in his pocket rang.

"Elizabeth," he answered with a smile.

"Neal? What is this?" she asked on her side.

"I got a friend at the Channing Museum. He's gonna call you today. He owes me a favor."

"Really?" she asked with skepticism. "Why?"

"To hire Burke Premier Events to do their annual Masters Retrospective."

There was a pause.

"That's… That's…" Elizabeth stuttered. "That's impossible to get."

"You just got it," Neal told her, proudly.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Just trying to fix what I broke," Neal said. He stopped walking. "There's something I wanted to ask you."

"Yeah?"

"You and Peter, how did you know?"

Elizabeth was quiet for a few seconds.

"Well… I think there's a difference between loving the idea of someone… and actually loving who they really are."

Not the romantic answer he expected and maybe he read more into it than Elizabeth meant but he had so many times heard that Kate was just a dream and that she was not really who he thought she was. Did he know Kate any longer?

"Listen, I gotta go," he said. "Thanks for everything."

"Okay. Well… I'll talk to you later."

Neal shook his head.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."

He ended the call and throw the phone in a wastebasket on the sidewalk. He would probably never speak to her again.

* * *

In the car back to the office Diana called.

"Fowler left for his break. I'm about to enter his office."

"Aim for his laptop, Diana. But be careful."

"I'll be out before his first sip of macchiato."

She hung up. Peter hoped she was right. It was their chance to get anything on Fowler.

The phone rang again. It was from El.

"Hi hon, what's up?"

"It's Neal…" she answered.

"Yes?"

"I think he just said goodbye. For good."

"What?"

She told him about flowers and a phone and that Neal would arrange for her to get a big event.

"And when I said we would talk later he just said 'goodbye Elizabeth' and hung up. It was something very final about it."

Peter drove to the side and parked. Was Neal about to escape? He pulled out his phone to check the app when he remembered that Neal's anklet was tampered with.

"Damn it!" he cursed.

"Isn't he going back for life if he escapes?" El asked and he could hear she was worried.

"Yeah…" Peter agreed. "I'll see if I can find him before Hell breaks loose. Bye, hon."

He stared out through the windshield. Neal would not run unless he had a solid plan. And somehow he figured Fowler and Kate and that music box had something to do with it. He needed a walk to clear his head.

As he did, Diana phoned again.

"Hey," he said.

"I'm headed to the garage. I've got everything on Mentor. You're not gonna believe it."

"Is Neal involved?"

"Heavily. There's another file, but it's encrypted."

"See you in a moment."

He was close to the OPR's office. And they only had part of the building to the garage was easily accessible. He jogged down the stairs but stopped when he heard voices.

"Why is D.C. looking at my operation?"

It was Fowler's voice.

"OPR appropriating resources for Neal Caffrey, an art thief, raises questions," Diana replied.

Peter did not want to expose the connection between him and Diana if it could be avoided.

"It's all legitimate," Fowler said.

"I know."

"And what else did you find?"

"Encrypted file. I couldn't open it."

Then Peter heard something. A gun being cocked.

"I'd like it back."

Peter rushed down the corridor and out in the parking area, orientating himself and found himself standing behind Diana, in front of Fowler. Diana stood with her hands in the air.

"Burke."

"Fowler. What the hell are you doing?"

"Of course you're involved in this," Fowler realized with a sigh. "Stay where you are."

"Lower your weapon," Peter said.

"You have no idea what you're—"

"Lower your weapon!"

Diana raised her hands a bit more and Peter noted that she exposed her gun to him, tucked in the back of the waist of her pants.

"You just stay where you are," Fowler repeated.

Peter did not follow this command. He took a step forward, arms wide.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "We're on the same team."

"Stay where you are. You're out of your league. You have no idea what you're getting involved in."

Peter was now within the reach of Diana's gun.

"You don't wanna shoot an agent," he told Fowler. Then he grabbed Diana's gun.

"Gun down!" he yelled, pointing his new weapon at Fowler. "Drop the weapon!"

"Put your gun down!" Fowler returned.

"Drop the weapon!"

"Put the gun down!"

"Drop the weapon! Now!"

Diana pulled her other gun and Fowler's aim swung to her. Peter placed two bullets right into the man's chest. Fowler fell towards the car.

Both of them rushed forward. There was no blood. Peter ripped his shirt open and they saw he had a bulletproof vest on.

Peter was relieved. He had every cause to shoot, but he had never shot someone in the line of duty before. He did not like the idea.

The vest prevented the bullets from penetrating the body, but the impact still hit you like a sledgehammer. Peter grabbed Fowler's neck and bent him forward.

"Breathe, breathe. Breathe, Fowler."

He kicked Fowler's gun in under the car.

"How did you know he was wearing a vest?" Diana asked.

"I didn't."

Diana smiled. Peter returned it. Not that he enjoyed shooting, but he had reacted as his training told him to. He had protected Diana as first priority.

Fowler seemed to get his breath back and he pulled the man up to standing again.

"What the hell is Mentor?"

"Mentor is legit," Fowler answered. "Caffrey works for us now. He and Kate are deep undercover for OPR."

"OPR doesn't have deep cover agents," Peter protested. "You are helping him disappear."

"He wants to go," Fowler whispered.

"You met with him again," Peter realized. He glanced into the car and saw something that could be little else than an amber music box. Alex had ran with it and somehow it had ended up in Neal's hands after all. And he had delivered it to Fowler to get Kate back. And considering what El said, there was no time to lose.

"Neal is gonna disappear. I need to know where he is." Peter grabbed the front of Fowler's clothes. "Tell me!"

"Why do you care?"

"Give me the drive." Diana handed him the USB-stick. Peter held it up to Fowler. "You want me to upload this to D.C.? Or do we have something to talk about?"

Fowler sighed.

"Airstrip by the Hudson, hangar four."

Operation Mentor was only legit so far. It was not sanctioned by D.C.

"Diana, take care of that music box he has in the backseat."

"Don't…" Fowler protested.

"Why? Are you going to stop me?"

Fowler shook his head.

"As I said, Burke, you're out of your league."

Diana got the bag with the music box.

"You've got a car?" he asked Diana who nodded. "Good. Let's go."

They got inside and she got the car out of the garage in no time. She was an excellent driver and for once Peter did not care about her pressing the speed limits.

"You've no badge, boss," she said. "Want me to arrest Caffrey?"

"I'm not going to arrest him. His deal is all legal."

"Then why…?"

"Because I want him to stay."

Diana glanced at him.

"Wow. You really like him."

"I do. He's smart and he did a great job for us. And yes, he's become a friend. I don't want to lose him. But most of all, I think he's making a mistake leaving."

They arrived at the airstrip and they saw a taxi leaving and a man looking like Neal enter the hangar. Peter jumped out of the car as soon as Diana stopped outside.

"Wait here!"

He ran inside.

* * *

Neal had taken a taxi out to the airstrip. He walked into the hangar. It was still hard to believe that he would start a new life today. He had dressed warm but besides from that, all he had was in a shoulder bag. He rounded a small plane and saw a small yet outside, door open, waiting.

Someone moved in the door, and Kate showed herself.

Neal's face broke into a big smile. She waved and he returned it. He hurried towards the plane.

"Neal," he heard a familiar voice calling out behind him.

Neal's heart sank. He stopped and turned to face Peter. How did he do it? How come Peter always found him?

"Are you here to arrest me?"

Peter grinned and held out his hands.

"I'm still a civilian," he answered and Neal relaxed. "And I know about Mentor. And I know you can walk away, and it's all legal."

Neal frowned.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I'm here as your friend."

Why did Peter have to remind him of their friendship right now? Why could he not been there as a cold-hearted FBI Agent that he could run away from without a second thought?

"You understand I'm getting on that plane?" he said, pointing at the jet.

Peter nodded.

"I also know you're making the biggest mistake of your life."

"This is what's best for everyone, Peter," Neal objected. "You go back to your life, I get to have one of my own."

"You already have one," Peter protested. "Right here. You have people who care about you. You make a difference. You do."

Neal knew that. He also knew that he one day would disappoint Peter. He had never had this type of close relationship with anyone before. He had no idea how to handle it. And he knew he would screw it up, sooner or later. Better to end it here once and for all, when it still could be a good memory for both of them.

He brought out his FBI consultant ID. He had intended to keep it, but maybe it was better this way.

Neal handed it over to Peter.

"Thank you for this."

Peter looked at it. And looked at Neal. The eyes were not angry or sad, just… hopeful. It made Neal uncomfortable. He pushed a happy smile to his face.

"I gotta go."

He walked towards the plane. He was almost out of the hangar when Peter:

"You said goodbye to everyone but me." Neal turned and saw Peter on the same spot. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"You do," Peter insisted. "Tell me."

"I don't know, okay?"

"Why?" his friend pushed on. Neal knew that he knew.

"You know why," he returned.

"Tell me."

Why did he have to make things so complicated? Why could he not just leave him alone, let him go?

"'Cause you're the only one who could change my mind," Neal shot back.

"Did I?"

Neal hated it when he started to sway in his convictions. Peter was the best friend he had ever had. Why could Peter not see that he was nothing but trouble? It would be three and a half more years like this. And Peter could not cover his back and give him a slack every time. Neal knew he would end up in prison, even if the good-hearted Peter thought otherwise.

He saw Kate in the window next to the door. He must do this. This was what he wanted.

He continued to walk towards the plane.

Peter did not call out again. Somewhere inside he knew he hoped that Peter would. Because Peter was right: he had a life here. He stopped and watched the sky, feeling the breeze of the wind. The taste of freedom. The life he was walking towards was a life he had wished before Peter arrested him the first time. It felt like ages ago.

He saw Peter still standing in the same spot, watching him. There was so much hope and goodness in those eyes. But this was not about Peter. This was about him.

"Peter…" he began.

And then there was a hot bang and he was pushed to the ground by the shock wave. He got to his feet saw the plane engulfed in flames. Kate was in there! Neal was vaguely aware of Peter's arms stopping him. He knew Kate was no more. The life he had dreamed about with Kate was gone forever.

* * *

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